Halo
by Chevira Lowe
Summary: SO3. Chapter 5 up. Multi-character centric. A new world, on which nothing is as it seems, and pleasantries are but mirrors to people's true motivations.
1. Chapter 1

Halo

A/N: Going on the assumption that you take Albel as your eighth party member, ergo you won't have the Crimson Scourge, and all the accompanying scenes that mostly deal with Albel's redemption, etc, etc.

-

There's a fine line between recreational hatred and arbitrary love. So fine that it might not even be realized, unless the examiner of the aforementioned line is an unaccountably restless thief-class warrior, one Nel Zelpher in name...it wasn't Aquaria making her restless, she realized--it was the swiftness of change. She'd gone from believing that Aquaria and all her retainers were the center of the universe, to believing; knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were but pawns in the interplay of something far greater than what she wanted to imagine.

If only because it diminished her and all she knew, had done and accomplished, had laughed and cried over, to something acknowledged only in retrospection, and even then, one had to squint to catch sight of it.

Nel yawned, stretched, and ruffled her already-tousled red hair, tugging a sheet filched from her bedchambers tighter about her shoulders as she did so, before settling on one of the castle's garden's many benches. It was a delicate luxury, and one that she hadn't indulged herself in ages, but presently she wanted nothing more than to sit and watch the stars the way she had when she was a little girl. Only then, she'd done it from her father's shoulders, as he'd pointed out great constallations to her fascinated, childlike gaze.

Nevelle Zelpher had been a great man before she was conceived--and so when she was born, it was to a legacy of infallible existentialism. She was expected to take after her father, all his courage and strength, and--well, she'd never been one to disappoint. And when he died defending his -their- people, she had accepted it, moved on, and vowed to make him proud. She smiled up at the stars and for but a moment, longed to tell her father of everything she'd done with her life. Impossible, of course, but the mere thought was comfort enough.

"So, I suppose you're here to tell me all about how you hate me, too."

The words weren't exactly anticipated, but that doesn't mean she hadn't been aware of their coming. Call it a precognitive dissonance, perhaps.

"Give your aching ego a rest, Albel the Wicked." She sighed, more annoyed with the interuption than the actual person that had caused it. He'd been there before her, she guessed, or she would have heard him enter. He was standing on the queen's balcony up and behind her, and why he'd chosen that moment to speak, only the gods themselves knew--and they'd always been a rather close-lipped bunch.

"Maggot."

Nel closed her eyes, unwilling to allow her anger to overcome her. This place, her holy city, was far too beautiful and calming to be scorched by her rage.

"Why are you here?" she asked curiously, instead, hoping to perhaps throw him off guard or at the very least make him leave. If she accomplished either, she would be remarkably pleased, indeed.

He remained silent, and she smiled briefly and went back to her observation of the divinely patterned heavens.

"Praying to your feeble gods? Insipid worm. They won't help you." She could almost hear the sneer in his voice.

I don't have time for this, she told herself sternly. "Would you be speaking from experience?"

Again, silence. She smiled halfly to herself. Maybe there was more than one way to deal with fire. You could quench it, of course, but if one wanted to be subtle, it could also be redirected. Albel Nox was a hateful, volatile, pathetic man whose lust and thirst for battle was ultimately his own weakness and _would_ be his own downfall. What would become of him when he became too old to fight? If, she mused, he lived long enough to see those days. A pitiable creature that she should not--_would_ not waste her energy getting angry with.

"I'm going to bed," she said somewhat louder than was necessary, though she expected she was talking solely to herself. "Good-night, Albel."

"Bah."

Well, it was at least an answer, even if it was devoid of any pleasantries, however eccentric they might have been coming from someone whom she believed had never said a kind word in his life. Certainly he had heard them from others. From what she had seen, Count Woltar treated him as a fondly as a son, or at least a nephew, and if King Airyglyph's affectionate, verbal resumé meant anything...

Nel smiled again and shook her head in the darkness. Clair would laugh at her for trying to be so reasonable. Let the idiot boy be an idiot boy. She, on the other hand, wanted her sleep.

-

Sleep could only last so long. It was Clair that woke her up, actually, sneaking about her room as quiet as a mouse. Nel had learned long ago that while she could sleep through skirmishes as near as outside her tent, it was more often the small, barely noticable noises that woke her. The probable assassin's flair for the job, she mused.

"Good-morning," she managed somewhat muzzily as she peeked out from beneath her blankets. The grey-haired woman, startled, nearly dropped the sheaf of documents she was carrying.

"Nel!" She sounded like a child that had been caught...well, rifling through someone else's possessions. "I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry." Her smile softened and she indicated the papers that she held. "I was looking for your recommendations for the--"

"In the second drawer," Nel said with an answering smile, pointing. "I didn't think you would be back in Aquios for a while,"

"Oh..." Clair looked momentarily trapped, and as though to buy herself time, she set her things on Nel's desk and drew up a stool. "Things are so slow lately...the marriage between the King of Airyglyph and our friend Rozaria has calmed things considerably between Airyglyph and Aquaria, and..." she sighed helplessly. "I'm glad the conflict is over, but..."

"You're bored, aren't you?" Nel snorted and fussed with her pillow until it was in a satisfactory position. "I know how you feel. The conflict between our countries has been going on so long..."

"It's hard to know what to do now that it's over?" Clair smiled ruefully. "Yes. As always, Nel, you know me far better than I know myself. Thank you."

The red-head waved a dismissive hand.

"Um...Nel...there is another reason I'm here, actually. You know Albel, correct?"

"Yes. What of him?"

"Well...there are some that believe he is here as a spy. I'm doing all I can, of course, to assure them that he's merely here as a token of goodwill between Airyglyph and Aquaria, but..."

"Having Albel the Wicked in such close proximity with our queen is raising the political red flag, isn't it?" Nel inquired, tilting her head to one side as she propped herself up on an elbow.

"Well, yes. Magistrate Laselle...wants to have him tried for war crimes. He was nowhere near as terrible as Lord Vox, but..." Clair looked somewhat troubled by this. "And some are backing them. The Queen has yet to say anything on the subject--" she paused as Nel snorted out a 'It's beneath her majesty to succumb to petty rumors' and then carried on. "But...Nel, you spent a great deal of time with Albel. What is your opinion?" She folded her hands in her lap and twisted her fingers around in what Nel knew to be a gesture of nervousness.

"He's..." she faltered. She wanted to say something positive about him--he had been a comrade, and yes, a valuable ally. Though that didn't change the fact that he was about as likable as an outbreak of gout. "...Unpredictable," she finished. "But I don't believe that he would jeopardize the relationship between Airyglyph and Aquaria, Clair. I may not know him very well, but he can be an honorable man, when the situation calls for it."

The other woman glanced down. "Thank you again, Nel."

Curiously, Nel studied her old colleague. The amount of stress she was under was showing in everything from the pallor of her skin to the tired little way she seemed to be forging onwards in her life. It was disconcerting, how little time apart had changed them both. "Clair...why do you ask?"

The Crimson Blade's commander smiled quickly. "Nothing much, really. I've just been concerned that...maybe he _is_ here for reasons of subterfuge. He may not have even been sent by the king, but..."

Nel laughed and reached for her friend's hand. "Clair. Albel may be...less than sane, but he is entirely loyal to his king. Put your mind at ease. If you'd like, I'll keep an eye on him."

She heaved a visible sigh of relief. "Would you, Nel? I...I would feel much better if I knew that you were, and I'm sure those that have been...worried...would as well."

"Of course, Clair. Now..."

The other woman got the hint. With a sheepish smile and a reassuring pat of Nel's hand, she gathered the documents that had brought her to the room initially and escaped to analyze them, leaving Nel alone once again.

She didn't go back to sleep immediately, which was what she wanted to do. Instead, she found herself staring blankly at the ceiling of her room. Aquarian finery was no small thing to trifle, that was for sure. And even when she wasn't here, she knew that a maid came around to tidy, straighten and dust at least once a day.

She thought what Albel wondered of it all. Useless trappings, most likely. Airyglyph castle was a cold, functional place where everything served a purpose. Aquaria still knew what it was to appreciate aesthetics.

With a mournful realization that she would be getting no more sleep, she pushed herself out of bed, donned her typical clothing and went to speak with Magistrate Laselle.

-

...Who promptly denied her an audience. He was _busy_, he simpered. Far too busy to see one of the (and though Nel didn't like to tout her title, she felt it somewhat necessary in this case) heroes of the known universe. His secretary (and when had the pretentious twit decided his workload was heavy enough to require one?) had stuttered apologetically and asked her if she would please come back again later, etc, etc, ad nauseum.

Nel was considering requesting an audience with her Majesty, if only because she could quell all the nonsense about Albel. Just because she wasn't fond of the boy didn't mean she couldn't deliver a professional courtesy when it was due. Just as she was pacing in annoyance outside Laselle's study, she happened across someone that she hadn't thought to see near this particular walk of life, and in fact the root of most of her current problems.

"Albel?"

His red eyes flickered up to her face and he smirked, setting a hand to the hilt of his sword. "What do you want, fool?"

She forestalled the clenching of a fist. "...Why are you here?"

He gave a slight, haughty toss of his head. "Why, haven't you heard? He--" and he paused at this to point his gauntleted hand at Laselle's closed door, "Has a death-wish. I'm only too happy to oblige the maggot."

Nel frowned. "How did you find out?"

"Ah, so you _have_ heard. Or were you one of the ones that petitioned it?" He observed her interestedly, with no apparent touch of malice. "In any case, I'm about to give your foolish government something to fear."

"_Albel_," Nel ground out in irritation. "Laselle isn't seeing anyone. If you come with me, I was planning on requesting an audience with the queen regarding this...matter."

He sneered at her as she reached for his arm and jerked it out of her grasp.

Nel took a moment to regain her composure. She was having the most delicious fantasy about pushing the annoying twig of a swordsman up against a wall and pinning the blade of one of her short-swords up against something vital.

"I'm trying to _help_ you," she said finally, and without any attempt to curb her exasperation. "I don't like this--it's not justified. And it could have easily been me, were the situations reserved. I'm trying to do you a favor."

He laughed--actually laughed-- although the sound of it was low and harsh like the rasping of a blade over a whetstone. "Do _yourself_ a favor," he said snidely. "And don't do me any. Unless of course you _like_ pain." He smiled at her, terrible and beautiful all at once, and brushed one of his claws past her cheek. Irritatedly, she batted it away.

"Have it your way," she said with a shrug. "If you're still singing the same tune after your head's on the executioner's block, well..."

She turned and would have left, had his next bout of laughter not stopped her. "You think _they_ could kill _me_? And I thought you were one of the more _reasonable_ of Aquaria's pet maggots. Don't overestimate yourself, fool."

She smiled, acid viciousness. "You seem so fond of it," she murmured softly. "Here I was thinking it was the fashionable thing to do..."

He glared at her, and it was at once deeper and more intimate than any glare should have been. Some small part of her that still clung to innocence and childhood dreams quailed, but the woman knew better. She smiled, turned, and walked away.

-

No matter what she said to him, it became increasingly important to her that Albel avoid punishment where once she would have rigorously meted it out herself. She wanted little more than the victory of shoving his freedom and continued survival down his throat. And if she hoped he'd choke on it, well...she'd keep that one to herself. However, she wasn't one to seek the queen out in anger, and so she returned to her quarters to calm herself down somewhat.

She'd lost soldiers to Albel the Wicked, she knew--as he had lost soldiers to her. It was rather like that peculiar game played in the Ruins of Mosel and later in Gemity. Warrior kills thief, thief kills symbologist, symbologist kills warrior. Well, if she was the symbologist, and he was the warrior...

Her mind, she thought sourly, had grown far too fond of wandering.

Almost inevitably, thinking of the 4D city made her turn to memories of her comrades. Former comrades, even. But still, in her heart, friends. Fayt, for all his idiosyncracies, Cliff for all his bluster. The seemingly-self-assured Maria...even the woman Mirage, though Nel hadn't ever gotten much of a chance to converse with her, she'd sensed a sort of kindred spirit in the blonde-haired woman. She'd thought fondly of all of them after a time, Albel excluded. But then, no one seemed to think fondly of Albel, except Fayt himself. He had opted to give the 'Glyphian a chance when none of them had wanted to.

Maybe that was the root of his bitterness? Rejection?

Perish the thought. Was he truly that weak? To require acceptance while offering none on his own behalf? Maybe the innocent Fayt was capable of such a thing, but Nel required a little more hard proof before seeking to forge a friendship. Her affection wasn't lightly bestowed upon anyone, and yet...

With a groan that belied her age, she pushed herself out of bed and drifted aimlessly across her room to her desk. In the second drawer to the left, the same one that she had earlier directed Clair towards, there was a small item, very precious in nature. A compact communicator. The same one, actually, that had served Fayt on all his journeys. He'd left it here when he departed Elicoor in Cliff's company, with a bit of a smile, and had made her promise that if she ever needed help with anything --and he'd stressed the 'anything at all' bit-- that she was to contact either Fayt or Cliff immediately.

Well, this wasn't exactly an emergency, but it would still be nice to see them. But would it be fair to summon them back for something as selfish as a personal visit? She didn't really have any news to share, unless you wanted to classify Albel's possible trial as 'news'. Come to think of it, that would probably just make Cliff amused and Fayt worried, and as foolish as the boy could sometimes be, she didn't want to worry him unless it became necessary. She set the communicator back in the drawer and slid it shut.

Unexpectedly, the little bit of reminiscience had abated her anger almost completely, to the point where she was left wondering what had annoyed her to begin with. Albel, of course, was the source of her irritation, but...

That was the last straw. She was going to see the queen.

-

Albel Nox had a secret. Oh, it was nothing dark or heinous (although he had secrets of that ilk as well), but it was a secret nevertheless. You see. Albel loved cats. And cats, despite his efforts to the contrary, seemed to love him as well. He had thought Aquaria a city far too pristine for animals, until of course he'd ventured into the palace kitchens and found, in a small cardboard box near the warmth of the ovens, a litter of the little mongrels. Newborn and ugly as the original sin they were, but that didn't stop him from glaring at anyone who dared question his presence while he snuck scraps of meat to the mother of the bunch.

The rotund cook, a great deal less afraid of him than he would have liked, had told him repeatedly that the poor things were supposed to be drowned, save that no one had the heart to do it. Maybe she kept expecting him to volunteer. It was a little too...parochial for his tastes. Humans he had no problem killing, because in their secret heart, everyone was a sinner, but kittens?

Albel the Wicked was just that--wicked. Wicked did not necessarily equate 'cruel'.

So the last time the chef had dropped the hint as he'd lurked about the kitchen, scowled at scullery girls and brow-beat errand boys into fleeing the room, he'd snorted his disdain at her, packed up the box under one arm and stalked off with it. One girl, the youngest, had asked him tentatively what he was planning on doing the little things, but apparently she couldn't endure more than a handful of seconds of his coldest glare before whimpering and moving out of his way without further comment.

So it was shortly afterwards that he installed the god-awful creatures in his bedroom without any resistance from the palace staff. Of course, that meant he--Sir Albel, had to stoop to cleaning the designated litter-box, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time. And as somewhere along the line, someone had wrestled out of him his word that he wouldn't go and kill anyone, it was as good a pasttime as any. And if the twinkle in the chef's eye as she handed him plates of scraps after meals was any indication that she knew he'd kept the sinister little creatures, she never said it aloud.

Well, maybe he just liked table scraps, damnit. Why couldn't they consider that?

But when he woke up minutes before sunrise, tense and subconsciously dreading the dawn, the annoying way the kittens (no longer newborns, but still just as ugly) had installed themselves in various strategic places across his body was if not a comfort then at least something to cherish. As much as Albel the Wicked cherished anything, anyways.

He didn't even have to be overly kind to the little things, he thought with a scowl as he shoved a kitten off his lap. It hit the floor with a reproachful mewl and cast him a backwards glance before bounding merrily away to join its siblings in some obscure game.

"Happy little maggots," he observed with disdainful fondness as the furry creatures romped and played and otherwise made complete fools out of themselves.

And then came the knock on the door.

Now, Albel had been residing in Aquaria for somewhere around six months and no one, anytime, ever, had dared knock on his door. It wasn't that there was a sign stationed outside with the words 'Caution! Vicious, blood-thirsty man within!' but most had gotten the picture regardless, showing remarkable insight in regards to his presence. That someone would now dare break the sanctity of that unspoken rule made him want to...well, kill something.

After all, it wasn't like he wanted anyone seeing the cats and perhaps getting the wrong idea. He _did_ have a reputation to uphold.

"Sir Albel?" came the tentative voice from beyond the door. He frowned, for it sounded like that Aquarian queen. If she had come in person, he assumed it would be to tell him one of two things--neither of which he would be particularly eager to hear.

"Come," he said carelessly, picking up a stray kitten, dropping it back in its confining box and shoving the whole lot under his bed. From nearby he retreived whetstone and knife, and began sharpening it to cover the plaintive mews that emitted from the box every now and then. Obviously, his guests were unhappy with their treatment. Well, that was too bloody bad. He could always drown them.

Romeria opened the door with a grace that accentuated her regal upbringing. Albel had little love for the Aquarian queen, but that didn't mean he didn't respect her.

"Hello, Albel," she began cordially, nodding at him. He didn't bother returning it, nor did she seem ready to reprimand him for its lack. "We are here not because we want to be, but because it has become necessary. Lady Nel tells me that you are aware of the charges some of our council are seeking to bring against you?"

He flipped the knife over and began to sharpen the other side. If this was all she had to say, he'd wear the fine steel down to a nub before the conversation was through.

She smiled at him as one might at a petulant child. "We see by your reaction that you do. We would like to apologize for the rashness of our retainers, Albel. It is not _our_ intention to alienate you in such a manner, however..."

He glared at her somewhat, brushing his errant bangs out of his face with the back of one careless hand. "However?"

"Your king..." she continued quietly. "Has given us permission to do as we see fit in this situation. In essence, he has told us that if we judge it necessary, you can be executed without political repercussion on his behalf."

This surprised him more than it should have. Though he trusted no one, people with power least of all, he had thought at least that his years of service of blood and bone would have held some sway with the erstwhile king. Although now that he had a new bride, perhaps his attentions were focused elsewhere. Hah.

The queen crossed the small chamber he called his own and set her delicate hand atop his gloved one to still it. He would have shaken it off and resumed the knife's sharpening had he not looked up to catch the look in her eyes. "He leaves it to our discretion," she said calmly. "Because he does not believe we would allow such a thing to occur, and in that he is correct. You have, in the recent past, done a great service to Aquaria, and we, as the rightful ruler of this land, are willing to forgive any 'crimes' you may have committed whilst our countries were at war."

He knew there was a catch. This time, he wasn't so slow to twitch his hand away from hers.

"However...there is a great deal of pressure on this incident. Not everyone is as easily convinced of your innocence. Not only that, but...because we cannot yet tell our people of the existence of other worlds, they cannot know the entire story of your heroics." She exhaled and seemed for a moment impossibly older than her timeless appearance otherwise suggested. "They are...good people, but they are not ready for such knowledge."

One of the kittens mewled loudly and in irritation, he drew the blade along the whetstone to the point where it squealed like nails on a chalkboard. The queen's expression did not falter, nor did she scold him for the obviously intentional action.

It occured to him, then, that she was here--the queen of Aquaria, his former enemy--in his _room_ without so much as a single bodyguard nor, anywhere that he could see, any weapons of her own. She knew, surely, that he was 'volatile' and 'not to be trusted', so why had she appeared so? Was this some meagre show of faith?

He would sooner shatter it than allow it to continue.

The queen knelt before him, then, and he was so startled at this development that he forgot any and all thoughts of animosity. She reached for his hand and he gave it without hesitation, perhaps still too bewildered to react within his usual parameters.

"We...are sorry to have to ask this of you, Albel Nox...but it is the only forseeable solution for the present time. Perhaps, eventually, we will be able to tell everyone of how you have worked to save us, even with their hatred upon your shoulders, but in the meantime...we would have you preform a service for us."

He waited, and remembered at the last minute to glare.

"We must ask that you go into ex--"

"Albel!" The door burst open rather suddenly, but not, Albel thought in annoyance, unexpectedly. Twice in one day. Did he need to kill someone, take their head and put it on a pike outside his door to stave off this sudden and flagrant misinterpretation of his image?

Nel looked like her usual self, though her brow was creased in what he took to be anger. She was panting somewhat, and had discarded her scarf somewhere along the way. One of her short-swords was half-way out of its sheath and she looked fit to use it. Instinctively, he jerked away from the queen and flexed the oiled joints of his gauntlet.

"Lady Nel?" Romeria asked as she stood, not to retain any dignity, Albel supposed, but to greet the newcomer.

"I thought..." Nel began warily, glancing past the queen to the crimson-eyed 'Glyphian. "I apologize," she said abruptly, though whether to him or the queen, Albel wasn't quite sure. "I misunderstood the situation, and..."

"Your concern is appreciated, Lady Nel," the queen said gravely, reaching out to touch Nel's cheek. The woman looked flushed, and from more than just the exertion that had brought her to his room. "But not, we think, necessary. Were there any dangers here, we believe that Sir Albel would prove remarkably proficient at defending us,"

Tactfully put, he thought bemusedly, studying anew this foreign queen. It neither insulted Nel nor him. The feat was not lost on Nel, who managed a smile.

"I beg your pardon, your majesty," she said slowly.

"Come in," the queen stepped back and out of the way, and the small room suddenly seemed quite too crowded. "Our conversation is not so private that you would have to leave." She turned her gaze back to Albel and took a bit of a breath. Composing herself, perhaps.

"We must ask," she repeated her earlier sentiments. "That you go into exile. It will not be permanent nor, we hope, uncomfortable. We are fully prepared to provide you with finances and provisions enough to sustain you. Until this controversy has ended, we will make every effort to clear your name. It...is not only for political reasons that we would do this, Albel. You cannot deny that you were a good captain to Airyglyph," a faint little smile highlighted the corners of her lips. "And there are those that would perhaps seek to harm you."

He snorted incredulously. He'd been dealing with people that 'sought to harm him' most of his adult life. He had ways of dealing with people like them, but for her to ask him--ASK, no less, as if he had a choice, for him to retreat from it all? There was a fight brewing, a storm coming, and she wanted him to turn tail and hide? Pah! He would prefer execution over cowardice any day, and he would gladly tell her so.

"Your Majesty?" Nel asked in something that sounded rather like disbelief. "You can't mean..."

"Lady Nel," the queen acknowledged, and as if it had been a command, Nel's mouth snapped shut. "Albel. Please, do not answer us now. This is not something to be rashly decided. There is time yet before the formal complaint is brought before us, and we can delay as necessary until you have decided. If you choose to stand and face the charges, we will support you as we can. But we warn you now that our protection might not be enough." She spared him another slight smile before passing it off to Nel. And then, as gracefully as she had came, she left.

Nel glared at him as though this chance encounter was somehow his fault. And underneath his bed, a kitten mewled.

The redheaded woman clapped a hand over her mouth, stared at him for an incredulous moment, and then burst out laughing. Immediately, his temper flared.

"What are you laughing at, fool?" He hissed with undisguised malice as he stood, reaching for his sword in one smooth movement. Nel continued to giggle helplessly, and she waved a hand at him as though to forestall his imminent thoughts of running her through with the business end of his weapon. In preparation, he grabbed her by the shoulder with his clawed hand and squeezed, just enough to get her attention. Her laughter ground to a halt and she smirked at him--the indolent sort of smirk that he'd spent half his life perfecting. "Shut up! Shut--_up_!"

"Please tell me," she said in all seriousness, not at all even hinting that she would comply with his blatant order. "That that wasn't you? That little...mew--Oh." As though unaware of the obvious pain that he had to be bringing her, she ducked under his arm and he was surprised into releasing her as she went for an escaped kitten. He'd forgotten the allure those things seemed to hold for women, and was cursing his stupidity as he stood there, cheeks flushed, entirely too angry at being laughed at.

"One of these, then? I didn't know you liked kittens, Albel," she said curiously as she picked up the little fluffball and held it aloft for inspection. "There was a box of them in the kitch--"

"Yes," he snapped irritably, leaning over to pluck the kitten out of her grasp by the scruff of its neck. He dropped it on his bed and it bounced on the impact before snuggling into his woolen blanket. "I noticed."

Nel's smirk softened slightly into a smile. "Are these them, then? I was wondering where they'd gone..."

He scowled at her, but it seemed to only fuel her idiotic expression. He drew back his fist to strike her, and she stared back, unafraid, challenging. He wanted to hit her far more than he'd ever want to hit anyone in his life. But then another captive kitten mewed and he lowered his hand with a sneer. The tension was thrumming between them, as tangible as blood upon a battlefield. Neither one of them seemed willing to break eye contact, and Albel knew that he wouldn't be the first to succumb.

She continued smiling, but she said nothing further; merely bent to scratch the kitten around the ears before turning to leave. She paused in the doorway and tilted her head to one side as though she wanted to say something further, some dramatic denouement, but seemed to think better of it.

It should have been his victory. Instead, it gave him a headache.

-

Albel left Aquaria that night. It wasn't that he thought he'd overstayed his welcome, it was that he could no longer tolerate the choke-chain of maggots so far beneath him that they'd somehow managed to become his superiors. His leaving wouldn't be a loss.

The kittens he'd abandoned in the care of the young kitchen maid, and she'd seemed annoyingly delighted that they'd survived a month in his care. He'd taken nothing but what he'd brought or bought himself, and although he was sure he cut a suspicious figure dressed as he was, the palace guards had not attempted to stop him.

At the edge of Aquios, he found out why. Nel was sitting on a low hillock of grass, legs stretched out before her. Her bag was at her side and on her lips was a small, knowing smile.

"You took your time," she said in lieu of a greeting. "Did you have any trouble at the gates?"

He leered at her and kept walking, wrapping his fingers tightly about the hilt of his sword. If she thought for a single minute that he would allow her to follow him, she was _sorely_ mistaken. He had no reservations about spilling her intestines into the chill midnight air and leaving her to die. His vow to refrain from killing people applied only to the cities. Never had the safety of anyone in the surrounding plains been mentioned.

"You shouldn't leave this area," she observed as he picked up his pace.

He stopped, irritated, and tilted his head just enough that she could make out his profile against the backdrop of darkness. "Oh?"

"Cliff will be here shortly," she said with a bemused smirk. "If you want to go off on your own sullen little way, feel free. I just thought that you might be up for an adventure, and..."

Cursing himself for weakness, he faced her. "And?"

"Well. There's not much left here. The war is over--we aren't obsolete, not exactly, but neither are we necessary. There's worlds of possibility just waiting for us. All we have to do," she said, stretching her arms over her head. "Is wait a little while. Cliff said that he was already near-enough that their...gravitic warp engine would get them here without much effort." Though she'd stumbled across the foreign words, all seemed well enough now. She tilted her head at the 'Glyphian swordsman. "Well?"

He curled a lip and turned his back to her again. He did not, however, take another step. "Why are you leaving?"

"Me?" Nel gave the barest of shrugs. "I will always be loyal to her majesty. I have her permission to leave."

"That," Albel said pointedly. "Did not. Answer. My question." His words were an impatient staccato, his tone balanced on the edge of a well-whittled knife.

"Mm?" Nel stood, dusted her gloved hands against her thighs and put her hands on her hips. She seemed inclined to ignore him all together as she focused instead on the skys. "You know, Albel," she said quietly. "For someone as wicked as you claim to be, you're really not half bad. Seriously--kittens?"

His back tensed, and his fingers drummed an impatient tattoo against the tempered steel of his half-drawn sword. Just as he sensed her gathering breath to speak again, he'd whirled around, weapon drawn and pressed against her neck. She didn't, he noted, look at all surprised.

"Killing one's enemies is one thing," she said wryly, tracing a gloved finger along the blade. "But is it truly in your nature to dispose of your allies as well?"

He gave her a disgusted look and pushed the blade along her neck, not at all disappointed to see a thin crimson line appear as if by magic. That was what death was to him. His own form of mythical symbology. He drew lines like living fire over the bodies of those who clung to life and before long, he had drawn their souls from their bodies and screams from their lips. How would Nel Zelpher die, he wondered. Defiant, or compliant? Maybe he would be permitted to find out--

With the flick of one hand, she'd freed one of her blades from its sheath and pressed it to his neck. The curved short-sword was not nearly as impressive as his katana, but the threat was clear. An impasse? Likely not.

"I've tolerated you," Nel said easily, not at all disconcerted about the location of his sword. "Because it was necessary. Because it was decreed by her majesty, and by your king. Without the alliance that your presence brought to us, we would not have had your king's cooperation in the assault against the Vendeeni. You're a good soldier, Albel, but that doesn't stop you from being rather idiotic."

She'd forgotten one thing. He wrapped his gauntleted hand about her blade and with neither repercussions nor damage, pushed it away. She resisted of course, but he took pride in being stronger than her. Before she had time to utilize her remaining blade, he took a step back, out of her range. The sword at her neck became a lover's caress.

"You," he said evenly. "Now owe me your life."

And with that, he slid his weapon until the point was under her chin before swinging it down and away in a violent slash. "Those insipid fools have arrived."

--

Criticism?


	2. Chapter 2

Halo

A/N: This is a character-driven story, more so than plot-driven. It does _have _a storyline, never fear, but if you're in search of something purely plot-oriented, you've come to the wrong place.

I would also like to greatly thank all the commenters--both for taking the time to both read this story and for having the kindness to review.

-

The Eagle had been restored as only the technicians of the Diplo could manage. The tiny ship had even gotten an engine upgrade out of the deal, filched from a Federation battleship. The hearty thrum of the creation engines made the whole deck reverberate beneath his feet, even in his tiny quarters. They'd have to sleep in shifts, Cliff had explained earlier to Nel, because they only had one room, and in it, only two beds.

Albel had objections to this. He would have preferred the woman Mirage as a room-mate, if indeed he had to tolerate any of them at all. She was less abrasive than Nel and more quiet than Cliff. Ideally, she would have been perfect. Unfortunately, it hadn't been his decision to make. And so, in utter annoyance, he sat on the lower bunk and to his great behest, had to listen to the oaf's indomitable snores.

-

_"Welcome aboard," Cliff had said as he leaned half out of the ship, bracing himself with one hand against the hatch. "Nel. Long time no see, eh?"_

_The Aquarian woman had smiled at him tolerantly. "Hello, Cliff. You're well?"_

_"Can't complain!" he retorted with a grin. "All's well that ends well and all that riot. We've got the Federation off our backs for a while. They've agreed to..._'forestall military action against Quark, so long as we are willing to cease our meddling in their business.' ..._Or something. Professional courtesy, heh." When she'd gotten close enough, he'd reached out and pulled her into the ship. To avoid, Albel thought sourly, having to talk in front of him. But their words had drifted towards him regardless. _

_"You said you were bringing a friend, Nel. Now, I know, I know, but my mind immediately runs to hot chicks. So what's up? Why we bringing mister girly-man along for the ride?"_

_Albel curled a lip. _

_"Cliff," Nel said in exasperation. "Can you keep your voice down? He's stubborn, not stupid. Nor deaf." _

_That, for a moment, almost made him smirk. _

_"Er. Right. Sorry. But--seriously, Nel."_

_"A trial is pending," the woman said slowly. "For war crimes." _

_"Yeah, so? He's guilty, ain't he?"_

_"Cliff..." _

_"Kidding!" _

_"Hmph. Anyways. The queen asked him to go into exile. I assumed this would be more..." _

_"Fun?"_

_"No. Less dangerous, maybe." _

_"...Nel, I fly a spaceship, I work for a corporation that goes against the rules and regs' of the largest association in the galaxy, and you think this is _safe?

_"Safer," she corrected him. "Not infallible." _

_"Hah." Cliff leaned back out the hatch and waved a hand at Albel, as though he had some sort of jurisdiction over his will. "Hurry up, will ya? Don't have all day. If you're coming..." _

_"Shut up, maggot," the swordsman sneered as he stalked past Cliff and into the tiny ship. He would never admit to feeling vulnerable, and reminded himself constantly that he wasn't so much surrounded by allies as he was by strangers. Behind him, Cliff had shrugged helplessly and cast something of a 'look' at Nel, but he'd ignored that. _

-

Also. As it seemed lately that his luck was running more to the side of the catastrophic, he'd noticed a stowaway earlier in his bags. A single kitten, black as mother night, had somehow escaped his notice, wrapped in the cloak he'd brought along for the sheer sake of necessity.

It was currently on his lap, purring as he made a point of Not Petting it. It was, however, loud enough to _almost _drown out Cliff's unsightly snoring. The problem however, was what in the name of dragons was he going to do with a kitten on board a--'spaceship'?

It purred on, oblivious to the troubles it had brought on itself.

There was a knock at the entrance to the room, at which he thrust the kitten under a blanket, where it continued to thrum happily. The door then hissed smoothly open, a wonder of modern hydraulics, and Mirage stepped through, head tilted to one side. Albel had thought her beautiful from their first meeting, but had never paid her any real attention. Though not as vapid as that child Sophia, he'd never been overly impressed with her intelligence, either. Especially not considering her close relationship with the oaf. She was holding a cup of something, and she handed it to him wordlessly, standing on her tip-toes to see whether or not Cliff was actually sleeping.

"Like the dead," Albel said with a sinister smile, reading her motives.

"That's a surprise," Mirage said with a quirked eyebrow, almost as though she was challenging him to say something else. "He hasn't been sleeping well lately. It'll be good for him to get some good rest. Please don't disturb him."

Albel scoffed and wave a hand as though to deflect this command. "What is this?" He indicated the mug she'd given him.

"Soup," she said evenly, as if it wasn't obvious. He felt heat rising in his cheeks and frowned to dispell it.

"I knew that, fool. What kind?"

She smiled slightly. "Our synthesizers may not have a wide range of gourmet foods, but they can make a mean chicken noodle soup."

Albel wondered if it was time to swallow his pride, and then decided against it. If soup was good enough for him, surely it was good enough for the damned fluffball from hell that had followed him. And if it didn't like it, it could starve.

Mirage waited a beat, and then turned to leave. "You're welcome, Albel Nox," she said as she pressed the panel to open the door.

He didn't spare her a second glance.

The kitten mewled playfully from underneath the blanket and he plucked it out from under it with a distasteful scowl. "So," he murmured. "You think yourself deserving of such treatment? Spoiled little cretin."

It dangled there helplessly in his grasp, and he sighed and set it down beside him. It immediately tried to sharpen its claws on his thigh, which prompted him to pick it up and move it further.

And then, thanking some higher deity that Cliff was asleep, he fished a small piece of chicken out of the mug and handed it off to the fuzzy monstrosity. It sniffed at it and looked at him rather quizzically as though asking _What, you expect me to eat this?_

He scowled. "It's all you're about to get. Don't let it go to waste."

Cliff's inverted head and shoulders suddenly appeared above him. Now, Albel wasn't the type to be frightened by much, but that man's ugly face was enough to scare the most hardened of soldiers. He yelped artlessly and jumped, the end result was that he scalded himself with the mug of soup that had, most unfortunately, ended up in his lap.

"Howdy," Cliff said in utter amusement. "What's up?"

Though he was instantly furious, Albel was not about to disgrace himself further by either checking to see if anything important was burned, or by wringing out the damnably absorbent fabric.

"My desire to kill you," he said acidly. The mug, which was still half full, he swished around.

"Uh..."

"What do you _want, _maggot?"

"I heard Mirage," the blonde man began. "Mirage brings food. Didn't bring any for me, eh? And ...you're...uh...wearing your meal. Congratulations, Albel. Chicken noodle soup is this year's magenta,"

"Remind me again why I haven't killed you yet."

"Because," Cliff said cheerfully. "You can't. You tried once, remember?"

That earned him little more than a stony glare, at which he chuckled and rolled back up onto his bed. "And you were talking to yourself, too. That's never healthy, you know."

"I was not _talking _to myself, you insufferable fool,"

"Oh yeah?"

Too annoyed to bother doing anything to the contrary, he picked the kitten (it hadn't escaped the splashing of chicken noodle soup either, and had been happily licking it off) and stood up, dangling it out before himself as Cliff blinked. "I was talking to this."

"You brought a cat?"

"I did not _bring _it," Albel said frostily. "It followed me. There's a difference."

Cliff reached out to touch it. "I haven't seen a real cat in years. They're pretty rare on Klaus, and--aiy!" It hissed at him and raked its sharp little claws along one of his hands, at which he winced and drew back.

"I guess it just sensed its own kind," he said reproachfully, rubbing at the scratch. "Vicious little thing."

Albel was suddenly accountably pleased that the stupid little fluffball had tagged along for the ride. "It needs food," he said offhandedly. "You will supply it."

Cliff grinned at him. "Testy creature when your britches are in a bunch, eh? Or, rather, in your lunch."

With something of a snarl, the swordsman had taken a single step forwards. To what end, he wasn't sure yet, but he thought it would involve mass amounts of screaming, blood, and a hearty side helping of dismemberment.

"Hey, hey." Cliff held out a hand and poked his nose, stopping him rather abruptly. Albel glared at the offending finger, going cross-eyed in the attempt. "You need to learn to take a joke, kid. Now...geeze. Go change and then get some sleep. We'll be taking night-shift tonight so the little women can get some rest."

Albel Nox had no intention of doing any such thing, which he managed to convey with a muted snarl. Cliff sighed.

"Now, listen up. You can make this hard, or you can make it easy. Me? I like easy. You agreed to come, right? Nobody dragged you kicking and screaming by those femme little braids you've got in your hair. Nobody..." he grinned again as though at some memory. "Nobody's _coerced _you or anything of the sort. And you've gotta remember, kid--this is my ship. Bought and paid for with my own hard-earned cash. You don't have to respect me, eh, but you should probably do what I say."

"And if I don't?"

Cliff withdrew his hand and waved it about in the air haphazardly. "Well, I don't think I'd have a problem tossing you out an airlock. Mirage might protest, though."

Albel considered this a moment.

"I desire a bath," he said finally.

"Eh? No such thing on this ship. Can use the shower, though. Just don't waste the water. We restocked in Aquaria, but we can only carry so much, and it needs to be recycled constantly. And with four people instead of two, well."

"I understand how not to waste things. Like air. Which you are," Albel ground out pointedly. "Doing this very moment."

"Heh. Point taken. Have fun."

Albel set the kitten back on his bed and stalked out of the room, managing to act marvelously dignified for a man wearing half a mug of chicken noodle soup and a skirt.

-

The shower cubicle wasn't all that difficult to figure out, although it took a measure of trial and error to adjust the water to where he'd like it. He removed his gauntlet and winced with the seperation of the leather fittings from the mangled stump of his arm. Even with the best medical care available in Airyglyph (and not dismissing the fact that the ascension of the flame ceremony always had a healer standing by) they'd been unable to save it.

Few people actually knew just how maimed he was, though--it wasn't like he'd made a point of taking the gauntlet off on a regular basis. The king had taken one look at him after he'd returned in the sympathetic company of another soldier and had commissioned the accouterment. It was a marvel of their day and age, fully functional, a system of straps and mechanisms that used the flexing of his bicep to manipulate the claws.

The skin was tender, as always, and he rubbed it absently with his hand, wincing at he hit a raw nerve that had never quite healed over. He showered quickly, identifying a dispenser on the wall as having soap in it--thankfully, it didn't smell nearly as fruity as he would have expected. He scrubbed rigorously at his hair with his one hand, and still rather sudsy, shut the water off. Modern amenities, how useful they were. He'd first been introduced to showers on the Diplo, and had been surprised to learn that he rather enjoyed them.

Albel had always liked the rain, which he assumed was why he liked showers. Their likeness was unmistakable, naturally. When he was a boy and used to play at Woltar's house with his fragile, sickly daughter, she wasn't allowed to go outside, and he'd been expected to entertain her, although it was a cruel thing to expect of him, considering that he was a year older than her. Now that he was an adult, a year made little difference, but then it had been an insurmountable gap. He'd been disdainful of her weakness, but had tolerated her for the sake of his father and Woltar, who obviously doted on the sick girl.

When it rained, however, they'd often go up into the attics of Woltar's mansion and listen to the steady beat of rain upon the roof. And the girl--Emily, had told him stories that she'd learned from her mother, and one of those stories had a very interesting connotation in regards to the rain.

_It washes away sin,_ she'd whispered softly, tracing a pattern in the air above them.

He'd scoffed at the time. But over the years, as he'd dirtied his hands in affairs that other men were sanctimoniously above, he'd taken an obscure comfort in the rain, all stemming from her words of long ago.

It was foolhardy, and he knew it, but the knowledge that he consciously engaged in foolish activities somehow lessened the overall stupidity of believing an old folk tale.

The Eagle kept no towels--a waste of space on so efficient a ship, but there was a setting in the shower akin to that in the Diplo--a full-body hot-air dryer of some sort. He'd never bothered to learn its official name. The hot air he dedicated mostly to wringing the damp out of his unbound hair. The stump of his left arm couldn't tolerate the intense heat, however--a memento of the dragon's fire that had destroyed it, and within moments he had gotten dressed in spare clothes that were thankfully devoid of any remnants of chicken soup and left the small bathroom.

But he had no intentions of sleeping. Restless demons prowled about in his minds, and through long years of self-examination, he knew better than to attempt sleep while he thought about the past. It wasn't that he feared the nightmares, but that that damnable man would probably ask him why he screamed in his sleep.

He could always tell him, of course. But then he'd have to kill him. A welcome solution--maybe he should go rest after all.

Instead, he made his way to the cockpit and leaned against the smooth surface of the bulkhead. Mirage, who was intent on piloting, didn't seem to notice him, but Nel's peripheral vision had picked up on his arrival, and she turned.

"You ," she said by way of a greeting, and with the quirk of one eyebrow.

He sneered at her and said nothing, causing her to shrug and turn back to the display before her and the blonde Klausian woman. Mirage seemed to be teaching her how it worked, and she was listening raptly, as eager to learn about one way to wage war as she was about another.

"Is Cliff awake?" Mirage asked suddenly, tilting her head just enough to suggest she would actually care for his answer.

"Who knows?" Albel shrugged offhandedly. "Maybe the gods will bless us and he'll die in his sleep."

"Mm. I hope not," Mirage returned to the read-out. "He's the only one that knows the access codes to the Klausian homeworld. Without him, the government might decide our ship is good target practice." Her monotonous voice held an undertone of amusement, and he honestly couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

"Mirage?" Nel said quizzically. "Cliff said something once...that he was high-born, or something of the sort."

"_Did _he, now?" Mirage smiled slightly. "It's really not my place to say."

Nel sighed and pushed herself back into the over-large chair into which she'd settled. "And then later, when he met her majesty. He addressed her like he'd been doing the same thing all his life..."

"Talkin' bout me?" Cliff inquired good-naturedly as he emerged from the tiny ship's quarters, stretching.

"Us?" Mirage asked innocently. "Cliff, why would we do that?"

"Bah," he returned with a grin. "I know you, Mirage. And...hey. We're all here." He must not have noticed Albel, leaning as he was against the wall. Out of some battered old reflex, the 'Glyphian reached for his sword only to remember that he wasn't wearing it. He settled for flexing the claws of his gauntlet and looking as distinctly unfriendly as he could manage. It didn't have the desired effect, because Cliff patted him on the shoulder and walked past him. "So where are we, Mirage?"

The woman flicked up a display and pointed to a small starcluster. "Near Venedos."

Cliff appeared to ponder this a moment, his chin supported by one hand. "Hey, aren't they the newest addition to the Federation?"

"Under duress, yes."

"Ah. So they'll be happy to see us, then?"

Mirage smiled vaguely. "Don't be so sure, Cliff. Approximately seventy years ago, Klaus had a hand in their subservience and eventual dependence on the Federation."

"Oh. Not happy to see us. Ah, hell. Should we stop there?"

Nel looked back and forth between the two. "Why would we?"

Cliff shrugged. "Something to do? We're mediators, you remember. We go, we ask if they feel they've been improperly represented on the Federation council...then we do...things..."

"How eloquent," Nel observed dryly.

Albel was wondering why the hell they were having this conversation. It was utterly pointless, nothing more than an expository acclamation of facts that weren't necessary to their knowledge.

"Besides," Cliff added finally. "It's basically my diplomatic duty to see if any reparations can be made between our two great peoples." He swept his arms out dramatically. Mirage was able to overlook this gesture completely.

"Do you think there'll be a problem here, Cliff?"

"Naw," he said confidently, giving his partner a thumb's up. "I've got this hunch, see..."

"Ah," Mirage said in a tone of enlightenment that was not at all reassuring.

"Tell you what," Cliff ventured. "Let's just hang in their orbit until they hail us. Let 'em know we don't mean 'em any harm or anything. If they want us to come down, they'll ask, eh?"

Mirage hid a smirk with one gloved hand. "Roger."

-

Although Albel had his suspicions that Cliff had a hand in it, Mirage had declined her sleep-cycle, citing that Klausians required less sleep than other races, and insisted that he get more rest. This time, wisely, he'd chosen the top bunk. Nel hadn't protested this changing of the arrangements, but he'd sensed her lying awake for quite some time. The kitten, nestled in the crook of his good arm, was purring happily. He only hoped that the hellion wouldn't want to get down. It might fall and kill itself.

He wasn't sure when he drifted off, but when he woke, he was screaming. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and he raked out instinctively, claws flexed with tension.

Nel gasped, and staggered backwards with the utterance of a soft little cry. Albel draped his hand over his face and clenched his fist tightly over his eyes. "That was stupid," he informed her coldly.

She didn't answer, and so he pushed himself up onto an elbow to glare down on her. She was looking at him with wide eyes, one hand clasped to her cheek. When she pulled it away, it was sticky with blood, and three long, deep gashes scored her face.

"Well..." she said shakily, wiping blood from her mouth. Though he'd never been a good judge of other people's emotions, he sensed the adrenaline rush that was keeping her from crying out in pain.

"Nel?!" Cliff banged loudly on the hatch, and it slid open before him as he stepped across the threshold. He took in the scene with a tight-lipped frown that turned into a full-blown expression of rage. "Mirage!" He half-yelled. The woman was there in a heartbeat, swiping her water-laden bangs from her face. "Get a medkit." With these words, Nel was ushered from the room. She went with surprising meekness. Shock, Albel diagnosed distantly. The next thing he knew, however, he was up against the wall, Cliff's hand twisted in the fabric of his shirt.

"Well?" the blonde demanded in anger.

"Well what," Albel remarked without the intonation that would mark it as a question. Cliff lifted him higher. His intimidation tactics might have worked on a few people, but not one that had spent as long as he had in Airyglyph's dungeons. Albel snorted.

"If you don't start talkin', I'm gonna rip your head off your shoulders. Don't," the Klausian growled dangerously. "Think for a minute that I can't."

"Maggot," Albel leered at him, entirely unmindful of the fact that he was at least a foot off the ground. "It's none of your business."

The two glared at each other a moment, and then, disgustedly, Cliff tossed him about as easily as a rag-doll to the opposite side of the room. Albel staggered, caught his balance, and would have retaliated with severity had Mirage not immediately stepped between the two, her back to him, her hands against Cliff's shoulders. He fought her a moment, and then heaved a sigh of immense irritation.

"Just let me hit him once, Mirage. It won't take more than that--"

"Cliff," Mirage said quietly. The man heaved a sigh of immense irritation and he scowled at Albel over Mirage's shoulder.

"It wasn't his fault," Nel spoke up from the door. How Mirage had managed to get her treated so fast was something of a mystery to him. The wounds had been covered efficiently with gauze, though they were already reddened in blood. "Cliff, he was--"

Albel was entirely unwilling to let the oaf know of his nightmares. "Doing exactly what he's wanted to do for a while."

Nel looked at him, and he expected she would have frowned, had she not been entirely too aware of her injury. Instead, she glanced back to Cliff. "Nevermind," she said tritely. "Hit him all you like."

Albel squared his shoulders and straightened his shirt. It wasn't his usual style, instead it was black and far more conservative, but that beast of a man had still done a number on it. The collar had been torn, and he picked at a stray string. To say that he was afraid of the other man would be a blatant lie. He'd had more frightening things for breakfast. If the oaf intended on hitting him, well. He'd realize that Albel Nox had more than his fair share of combat experience.

Mirage gave him a quelling glance. "You two," she said to both Cliff and Nel. "Do you think you can handle the ship?"

"Mirage, what's your poin--"

"I'm feeling very tired," she said demurely. "So I'm going to have to ask you to take over, Cliff."

"But we're just hanging in orbit, there's no reas--!"

"Cliff." How she managed to cow the man with a single word was beyond Albel's comprehension. He earned one final glare from Cliff before he turned and stalked out of the room with a muttered: "...Yes ma'am."

Nel didn't take so much convincing. She nodded to Mirage, avoided looking at the swordsman completely and left. Only when the door hissed shut behind her did Mirage sigh and turn to him.

"If you knew you were going to be having nightmares to which you violently react," she began quietly. "You should have told me. I would have given you something to help you sleep."

Truly, the thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"She told me," Mirage supplied, misreading his surprised expression. "Because if she hadn't, I probably would have let Cliff beat you up. _And_ I would have helped." She offered a smile. "We don't bite, you know. Would it kill you to be nicer?"

She was reminding him horribly of his mother. She'd always had this astounding ability to be utterly calm while he was fuming inside, and had on more than one occasion managed to re-direct his animosity with her gentle words alone.

He wasn't angry at Cliff, or even Nel. Who he was angry at, he thought bitterly, was himself.

"I didn't mea--"

"Shh." Mirage set a finger to her lips. "I'm not the one that needs convincing."

He hated that she was right.

"Now. Cliff mentioned a kitten?"

As though on cue, the abomination mewled. The sound came from under the bottom bunk, and Mirage crouched down to coax it out. "Did you want something?" She said after a while. "To help you sleep, I mean. There's any number of things I could give you, if you wanted to stop the nightmares."

Albel glanced down at his hand, which was, to his dismay, trembling somewhat. He frowned and clenched it into a fist. "I don't have any need for your --"

"Careful," the woman cautioned him. "I may not be as quick to anger as Cliff is, but insulting me is not the quickest way to get on my good side."

He shut his mouth and, for lack of a better term, sulked. Mirage, looking up at him, laughed as she cradled the cat against her chest. "We haven't tried to hurt you," she said curiously. "So why this act? You can't say that's not what you're afraid of."

He remained silent, hoping that if she didn't get enough of a response, she'd just shut up and go away.

"Promise me something?" she asked after observing this latest bout of silence.

"I don't owe you anythi--"

"Actually...I could have let Cliff hurt you. I don't really want to bring that up, but if you're going to be this way..." she smiled at him. "Promise me that you won't take too long to apologize to Nel. I could have healed her fully, but that would have taken too much time. She was rather insistent we return as soon as possible to ensure we wouldn't be scraping you off the floor." She scratched the kitten fondly and the traitorous creature looked as contented as possible.

He folded his arms. "Why aren't you mad at me?"

That damnable smile was downright disconcerting. "We all have nightmares, Albel."

He had nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.

-


	3. Chapter 3

Halo

A/N: Just a quick note. In light of any possible romance, it will happen slowly, as with real relationships. Development is one of the most important aspects of any tale, and this is no exception. On the same hand, oh lookie, a plot begins to rear its ridiculously complicated head.

Now, this story will be taking a brief hiatus, as I'll be leaving on a vacation shortly, to return December 7th, upon which time it will resume. Again, I'd like to thank all those that have taken the time to read and to review--it's greatly appreciated.

And, as always, criticism is the highest praise.

-

He couldn't remember what it had been like to live without the pain. With every beat of his heart, caged as it was in his lamentably fragile body, his head pulsed with a new wave of agony. He thought he might have screamed once, or twice, but beyond that, his memory afforded him nothing but the soft, dull ivory of oblivion.

Had it...had it been a trap?

No. He didn't think so. But there was a part of him, coldly rational, that told him that he should consider the possibility. It still didn't scan--he couldn't make any sense of what little he could remember, and as for the present...

"Hey, kid. You know how to fire a gun?"

He wanted to tell the man that he didn't belong here. The words came out strange, garbled. An agreement? Maybe. He couldn't understand himself any more than he could comprehend the reason for his being here. But where was 'here' to begin with?

"Good. Here." And a pistol--an ancient model of the pulse-stunner, had been shoved into his hands. "Anyone comes through that door--" The man, an old, grizzled creature that wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum display, pointed towards the exit. Beyond it, there was only light. He thought that maybe if he could get to it, he'd be free, but-- "You shoot it. Three times. These bastards don't go down easily."

He wasn't supposed to be here. That much, he knew. _I have to get back...everyone--everyone else, I have to warn them..._

"Good luck, kid."

The old man didn't even know his name, and he was leaving him alone to die.

-

"So, Cliff..." Nel began as he waved a small hand-held healing device over her Albel-inflicted injury. Mirage had done an admirable job in the thirty-someodd seconds they'd had to treat it, but the fact remained that Cliff had insisted on utilizing the Eagle's higher tech medical facilities. She'd cast a cure spell on herself, which had stopped the bleeding, but he was still growling over the fact that the marks would probably scar.

"Eh?" He sat back on one of the two chairs gracing the room and tossed the little device down onto a tray. However, instead of waiting for her to speak again, he ploughed forwards. "You know? I'm beginning to think it was a bad idea to bring the girlyman along for the ride."

"I hadn't noticed," she said tersely, touching a hand to the healing sutures. She could already feel the edges closing, though the skin was rough and uneven to her combat-calloused fingers.

"Oh? Good. Then you_ won't_ protest when I toss him out an airlock?"

"Likely not. But I doubt _he'd_ go quietly."

"Bah. So I'll truss him up first. Does hog-tying work on asses?" He returned his attention to the tray, laden as it was with haphazardly scattered medical supplies. "Here. Vitamin E based compound, lessens scar-tissue, apply regularly, yadda, yadda..." He held out a small tube to her, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. "So...anyways. How've things been? You hear from Fayt at all?"

Nel accepted the ointment and tilted her head. "No...I would have thought you would have been the likely one he'd contact."

Cliff blinked. "Naw...I haven't heard from him in two...three months? Last time I heard, he was back on Earth with that girl Sophia." He shrugged one shoulder and fiddled with an instrument that looked like a scalpel, just for something to do.

"Hmm..." Nel considered this a moment. Fayt wasn't the sort to abandon his friends, and she knew that the boy had counted them all as such things before Luther's fall. She had to respect his willingness to trust, if nothing else. But the abruptness with which he'd severed contact...? She knew she hadn't misjudged him, so...

"Is there anything to eat?"

The Klausian looked lost in thought, completely oblivious to her entreaty. She nudged him with a booted foot and he looked up at her. "Eh?"

"Food, Cliff."

"Oh. Right. Any requests?"

She shook her head in exasperation as the man got to his feet, stretched, and went to the far wall, where there was a small, mysterious device that she had yet to decipher the use of. He pushed a few buttons in rapid succession and the machine groaned. Nel may not have been good with technological devices, but she knew that this couldn't possibly be healthy for it.

He shot her a sheepish glance over his shoulder. "Uh...it does this sometimes. Just gotta...adjust it a bit."

Cliff kicked the hell out of the machine.

The end result, she thought later, wasn't half-bad. It was a dish he'd identified as being old Earth-Asian--chow mein or something of that nature. Upon request, he'd also supplied her with a glass of water and left her to her own contrivances as he went to 'man the ship'. She suspected he just wanted time to think, although to what end, she wasn't quite sure. Unfortunately, this also left her with time enough of her own. A brooding Nel, Clair had once told her teasingly, wasn't a happy Nel.

Ergo, logic dictated that she wasn't, in fact, a very happy Nel at all.

She'd been willing, just for a little while, to trust he whom she'd once considered her mortal enemy. He'd proven himself unworthy of that trust, and she was rather annoyed at herself for giving him the chance. She'd thought that maybe, their journey had changed him.

She'd been wrong.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time she'd been forcibly contradicted on her opinions regarding other people. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

She'd never been the type to sit and stew about things. She was brash and confrontational and she'd never had a problem with that. So. Resolutely, she put the day's happenings out of her mind and contented herself with a hot meal and the promise of good companionship. Companionship that excluded one Albel the Wicked.

She couldn't blame him, she supposed. He'd lived up to his name, which was all anyone could ever hope for.

-

Six hours after 'the incident', Albel knew what it was to rediscover the supremacy of annoyance.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

His homicidal urges were nothing new, but the fact remained that he was quite wishing he could take them out on something--or, alternately, some_one, _right about now.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Cli--

"_Stop _that."

Mirage blinked and looked up, the push-pen that was the source of his current irritation paused mid-click against her cheek. "Sorry," she said mildly. "Was I bothering you?" Why the woman insisted on writing things on paper with an archaic pen with their level of technology was beyond him, but he wasn't about to ask. Let the foolish blonde do what she wanted, so long as it didn't involve bothering him.

"I can't sleep with all this damnable noise, fool," he informed her with what he thought was admirable courtesy. Courtesy in this case was the fact that he hadn't served his words at the edge of a blade.

"Ah," she murmured, sounding entirely unrepentant.

Silence reigned for a pitiably short period of time before she started again. Click. Click. Clickclick. Click. That was it. She was _trying _to drive him mad.

Albel, with the knowledge that he wasn't going to get any decent rest at all now, or perhaps ever, swung down from the upper bunk, gave Mirage one of his most vicious glares and then stalked to the door. The kitten, still in her care, mewled after him questionably, but he ignored it. Traitorous beast.

"If you're leaving, can you send Cliff in?" the woman asked from behind him. "I have some things to discuss with him."

Now. Albel the Wicked was not an unintelligent man in the slightest. It just wasn't his prerogative to be dumb like a bag of rocks, unlike some he could mention. So it was with thinly veiled contempt that he pushed the door panel and stepped out into the narrow corridor that these fools had designated as a 'hallway.'

So. She was trying to speed up this 'apology' process, was she?

The truth was--he didn't want to apologize. And considering what Nel had said earlier, he assumed she didn't want to hear it. Which, of course, suited his purposes admirably. Despite the months they'd spent in each other's company, his opinion of the Aquarian woman hadn't much changed. She was competent, she was intelligent, but that was all. She was still his enemy.

But he hadn't killed her yet. That was something of an enigma to him. He'd had the opportunity--she'd nearly handed it to him on a silver platter, and yet...

"Hey Mirage, that you?" Cliff was sitting in the pilot's chair and hadn't bothered to turn around. Albel didn't--read: Did Not-- want to speak with him at this moment, and so he ducked into another room. By the time the Klausian had turned around, noted that no one was there and turned back around with a 'Huh', something else had caught his attention.

_A hail?_

"About time," he muttered as he pulled up the message. It had been recorded and sent via tight-beam--an unusual method of sending something as simple as--hello...

"Um...hello, guys. It's Sophia. I--I'm here on Venedos, and...I can sense you through--um...I shouldn't mention it here. This is about Fayt. We came here two months ago to do some research--Blair had contacted me and said that there was something off about this section of the Eternal Sphere. She wasn't able to be more specific than that. But Fayt disappeared a few weeks ago and I haven't been able to get transportation off the planet to contact anyone and I don't think they'd let me leave even if I could, and...and... --I'm scared. Cliff, Mirage, I need your help. Please." Sophia had certainly sounded frightened enough when she'd recorded the message. The emotion was almost palpable.

But it seemed that matters had just gotten complicated. More so than they'd been before. "Yo, Mirage!" He hollered, assuming that his partner in crime would hear him. She usually did, unless she was _trying _to ignore him, which, as she appeared beside him, apparently wasn't the case.

"Did you see Al--?"

"Nevermind that," he waved a dismissive hand and pointed to the co-pilot's chair. "Have a seat and listen to this." With that, he re-played Sophia's message. Mirage listened intently, a thoughtful half-frown on her face as she did so, and when it was over, she cast him a sideways glance that he recognized all too well.

"We getting involved?" he asked with a cheerfulness that he almost didn't feel. What business did Fayt have going missing? What a half-assed thing to do, going to a strange planet without his bodyguard? Pfft.

"Apparently," she agreed, getting back to her feet. "We should tell Nel and Albel, don't you think?"

"Nel, sure." Was he scowling? It felt like he was scowling. If it seemed like a scowl and felt like a scowl--must be--yup. A scowl. Either way, it couldn't go amiss. Mirage folded her arms across her chest.

"And Albel?" she prompted again.

"Argh, fine." It wasn't his intention to keep the Glyphian soldier in the dark--it was more his style to beat the crap out of him and _then _leave him there. Okay, that was kindasortamaybe just a little itty bit unfair. Albel was an ass, sure, but he'd known lots of them. Something about _this _one, however, just managed to rub him the wrong way most of the time. Even when Albel was trying to be nice, he was still an ass. Not that Cliff had ever actually seen him be anything beyond tolerable...

"And then what?" Mirage continued as though talking to herself. "We haven't received permission to dock, yet. They may not be the most advanced planet in the Federation, but they still know what they're doing. A Klausian ship in their airspace without invitation could cause...trouble."

"Bah." Cliff grinned at her and gave a thumbs-up. "Trouble? You know that's my middle name, right?"

"Actually," she deadpanned. "I thought it was Abig--"

"Argh! Mirage!"

"--gail," she finished with a smile.

He glared at her and she reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "Medical records," she said easily. "Are treacherous items, when it comes to certain caches of knowledge."

He batted playfully at her hand and she took a step back to avoid him. "Hey, it's not my fault my mother--...er...anyways..."

Mirage held up a hand, at which his words ground to a halt. "I'll go get Nel and Albel. We need to contact the government and inform them that we're not a threat. _And _we need to make them believe it."

"They'll probably take our weapons away."

Mimicking but not mocking him, Mirage returned the thumbs-up of earlier. "And that's stopped us before...when?"

He grinned. "Good point, Mirage."

-

Well. This was...awkward. If Albel had known that the door that he was going to duck into to avoid having to listen to that oaf's ceaseless prattling was going to bring him face to face with Nel Zelpher, he might have thrown himself on the proverbial grenade and taken Cliff instead. Nel had looked up upon his entry, and was eyeing him with chill tolerance.

"That's going to scar," he said with clinical observation, pointing his clawed gauntlet in the general direction of her healing wounds. A fine opening line, to be sure.

"Yes," she said in agreement, her eyes narrowed at him as he stood beside the door, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"You should have kept your distance, fool." Abjection 101 was obviously a class that Albel Nox had failed to attend. He simply wasn't the type to experience remorse, at least where his enemies...allies..._enemies, _damnit--were concerned.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," Nel said dryly.

Silence.

"Why are you still here?"

...More silence.

"Because."

"Oh, _good _answer," the Aquarian woman snapped irritably. "Now if--"

"Be silent, maggot." He didn't want to meet her eyes. Now, it wasn't out of any half-baked fear or, even less likely, remorse, but the simple fact that there were far more interesting things in the room to study. Like...the walls. "I came to offer--" Not an apology, so what, then? "An opportunity for you to..." Now. Albel had never been good with words. But there was no reason--none, that this should be so difficult. "Return the...favor." There. He'd said it. No matter what the woman Mirage had said, he wasn't about to apologize. Albel Nox did not apologize. For anything. _Ever_.

She blinked, and to his annoyance, looked almost--amused? "You mean...?" she tapped a finger against the vivid red marks he'd deigned grace her with, at which he forced a nod.

"Without retaliation," he added as an afterthought.

She stood rather abruptly and paused a moment with her hands on her hips. "Hmm," she murmured almost to herself as she paced across the room to stand in front of him. Instinctively, he tensed, and the knuckles of his right hand went white as he gripped his sword.

She hit him before he could so much as move. The first punch landed on his jaw, rocking his head back with the strength applied. Surely it was far greater than what he'd expected of the slender slip of a woman. The second, applied with even greater force, was delivered to his stomach. He doubled over with a strangled cough. Something of his pride prevented him from gasping, though the acquisition of oxygen had become exponentially difficult.

Nel stepped back and dusted her hands off as though she'd had a part in something particularly foul. "Don't ever do that again," she said calmly. "Because if you do, I'll do worse to far more sensitive areas."

"Idiot," he snarled when he'd regained enough wind. "If you think..."

"Are you two quite done?" Mirage's cool voice interrupted him and inwardly, Albel kicked himself. Not only was there _one _woman witness to this obviously shameful show, there were _two_! Well...he could always kill them...the dead tell no tales, after all...

"Yes," Nel said rather abruptly. "Quite."

"Good," Mirage announced as Albel sneered at her. "We have a situation. Nel?"

The redheaded woman walked past the swordsman without so much as a backwards glance, and the moment she had disappeared into the hallway, Mirage cocked her head to one side. "Come to the cockpit when you've...recovered."

"Shut up, worm," he ground out between clenched teeth. The blonde merely smiled at him and followed Nel out the door, which hissed shut behind her. He would have bet fol to maggots that they would flitter off and discuss him if he didn't follow immediately, but first...

"...Sorry," he muttered under his breath as he drew himself upright. Such words were only safely spoken alone. He couldn't say whether or not he meant it, though. Maybe. Probably not. Hm. With that tiny admission of humanity, he strode out the door and hated himself all the more.

-

"So what's our itinerary?" Nel asked immediately after Cliff had explained their situation. The big man spread his hands beseechingly and shook his head.

"Nooooo clue."

"We sent our own hail," Mirage told her with a mild shrug. "We wait until they respond to it. We _are _a neutral party, after all. We aren't truly affiliated with the Klausian sectors."

Albel, standing a ways away from all the others, folded his arms and snorted. Cliff had given him a mockingly amused look the moment that he'd entered the room and, touching a hand to his cheek, he thought he knew why. It wasn't that Albel bruised easily, it was that the annoying Aquarian hit _hard_.

His mother had always told him that women, more than anything, wanted to be treated as equals, which was probably why he had no issue with alternately hitting or dispatching of them. There were, of course, men and women that were beneath his notice entirely, but they were little more than maggots anyways. But Nel...she'd proven difficultly resilient on more than one occasion. He supposed it was possible that he respected her, in some awkward little way. She'd never hear it from him, but the echo of truth in his thoughts betrayed him to himself.

Hmph. So what if he respected her. He'd granted his respect to a great many people, the total of which was...

...probably less than three.

"Albel? Do you have any opinions?"

Yes, he thought irritably, but saying them aloud would cause most everyone present a great deal of mental trauma. Which, while he wasn't exactly _against..._he wasn't going to go out of his way to cause, either. So instead he retained his silence and glared at her.

Mirage pursed her lips at his lack of response, and then shrugged. Together, she, Cliff and Nel resumed talking amongst themselves. Albel paid little attention to them. There was really no point. They'd decide something without him, and that suited him just fine.

However, the circumstances preceding them were certainly mysterious. That idiot boy had gone and gotten himself lost, and the vapid girl that followed him around like a lost puppy was scared. Well, that was nothing new. She'd certainly announced the fact often enough in the midst of battle. Even so. Of all their little 'group', he'd tolerated that Fayt the most. It wasn't that he liked him, per se--but that he...well, could _tolerate _him. And at least he didn't try to stir up trouble.

Except like what he was doing now.

_Idiot,_ Albel affirmed. _And of course, he felt the need to endanger himself to the point where we have to come rescue him. _

"Hey, guys," Cliff announced suddenly, interrupting Albel's inner contemplations of what exactly he would do to the ignorant boy-child when they found him. Albel had never been the sort to scold with words, but one quick punch would probably prove his point better than verbose dialect ever could.

"Hm? What is it?" Nel leaned forwards in her chair as Mirage tapped absently at the Eagle's readout.

"Looks like they've replied," she said neutrally. "Well, let's hear what we have to say, shall we?"

She pulled up the message and leaned back in her chair, tapping her gloved fingers absently together in a steeple.

"Greetings," the short holographic man announced. "Please, allow me to, ah, 'cut to the chase', I believe is the adage.

"There are those among us that have little reason to tolerate those of Klausian blood on our soil, as well as those who believe it's in our best interests to bury the past. You will be permitted here, thanks due to our _courtesy," _and if that intonation of that word wasn't a thinly veiled threat, then Albel didn't know what was. "And you will be treated fairly, so long as you do not in any way threaten our way of life. However, we must ask that you leave any and all weapons, as well as your ship, in our custody or the custody of our spacing guild, where they will undergo a thorough examination for any...ah..." the little hologram waved an apologetic hand. "Potential subterfuge. It would also be advisable that one of your number remain in our care at all times, though who we will leave to you."

"Great," Cliff snorted. "So they think we're here to rekindle a war? Just the two of us? Gee, Mirage. I don't mean to sound modest, but isn't that overkill? Heh. Wonderful show of faith, boys."

"They mean to take one of us into captivity?" Albel sneered at the mere thought. "What a ludicrous idea. The only thing they're going to be 'taking captive' is my sword through their gut."

Mirage shrugged and his words for the most part were largely ignored. "I'll go. They won't harm me, and it leaves you three free to--"

"Now, Mirage," Cliff swept a hand broadly, indicative perhaps of their current situation. "I appreciate the gesture of valor and all that, but nobody is going anywhere. I'll pull out my diplomatic status, if I have to, but--" he grimaced at the mere thought of resuscitating that particular aspect of his past. "Eh. Let's just say they won't give us any grief after I've talked to them personally."

Mirage quirked an eyebrow and remained silent, and to Albel this was more a show of faith than anything he'd ever seen. Trusting in this fool to keep them safe wasn't something that was high on his to-do list, thank you.

Nel, changing the subject, tried something else. "So. How will we contact Sophia once we're down there?"

"We won't," Cliff said nonchalantly. "I have a feeling that she'll get in contact with us."

"A hunch?" the Klausian woman asked dryly.

Cliff grinned. "Somethin' like that, yeah."

_Great, _Albel thought contemptuously. _Just great. _

Another of Cliff's 'hunches' was _not _what he wanted to rely on. Look where the _first _one had gotten them.

-

They'd been left in what, under different circumstances, Mirage might have called a lobby. If it weren't for the two armed guards standing nearby, anyways. They were doing an admirable job of looking like furniture, perhaps it was a required course before they could qualify for the duty? Hm...

The two Elicoorians were acting as a sharp contrast to one another. Albel looked...indifferent, whereas Nel appeared to be more...well, not nervous, but not entirely at ease, either. But these were the sort of happenings that Mirage, as a member of Quark, had long gotten used to. Cliff had marched right off to talk to 'whoever the hell's in charge on this rock,' and had hinted to her with surprising subtlety that she should remain here and keep an eye on things.

And so she was.

She'd been paying close attention to the security measures involved in their arrival. They'd been escorted to an orbital station by way of a mini armada and it had been obliquely hinted that were they to try anything, they would be shot out of the sky. Such a suspicious race they'd ended up in the midst of.

So, as they'd been 'escorted' to this lobby, she'd marked off any possible exits and potential dead-ends, made a brief inventory of the weaponry she saw and a list of any personnel that happened across her path. The Venedosians were a rigidly militaristic caste, which hadn't come as a surprise. Unfortunately, they were also extremely tight-lipped, and even her casual attempts to engage them in conversation had fallen flat. They had remarkable restraint for warm-blooded males.

They'd been frisked, of course, and both Cliff and herself had been relieved of a miniature armory. Nel had fared little better and had lost both her swords and an array of knives that she'd had concealed in various spots. Albel hadn't, understandably, wanted to part with either sword or gauntlet but it had been...forcibly insisted. He'd given the guards a glare that could have shattered glass and assented, though he'd insisted on keeping a cloak from his bags, which he'd draped haphazardly over his left shoulder. Mirage didn't bother wondering at this-- although she thought that maybe he was just insecure without his weapons. She hoped he had at least decent hand-to-hand combat training.

Nel, occupying a chair nearby, frowned suddenly and stood. "This is taking too long," she announced in irritation, and without further ado she marched to the nearest guard. "Where's our companion?"

The guard didn't so much as blink. Instead, he pointed back to her chair. She glowered at him. Mirage mulled over the fact that she hadn't actually seen Nel Zelpher in anything approaching a rage as of yet. Perhaps now would prove to be an apropos time?

"I don't think you understand me," the redhead said firmly, twisting out of the guard's grasp as he tried to take her arm and steer her back to her seat. "I asked you a ques--"

"Hey guys." Cliff's voice was quite obviously cheerful, and as he strode towards them he began to whistle off-key. "We've got free reign now. You--" he eyed the guard that had made a half-hearted attempt at accosting Nel. "You mind?"

Blandly, the guard released her.

"Perfect timing," Mirage murmured as she stood. "But how--"

"Quite a story, that," he said with a grin. "Apparently, my grandfather was highly respected on this planet, too. You know, he actually tried to end the war? Huh. Learn somethin' new every day, I guess." Cliff rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "Anyways. They've nixed that little jinx-thingamajigger that they tried to toss at us, but I had to agree to report in with their government every twenty-eight hours." He flashed his omnipresent compact communicator. "No biggie. Let's go find somewhere to kick back for a while until Sophia gets a hold of us."

"Roger."

This, Mirage reasoned, was shaping up to be a lovely experience. If by 'lovely', one meant 'exceedingly tedious.' Which, of course, she did.

-


	4. Chapter 4

Halo

A/N: Ah, it's good to be back home and writing. Mwah. Onwards to ficcage.

Living meatballs. Yum.

And, once again, I'd like to thank again to all those that've taken the time and effort to review. It's muchly appreciated.

-

Their first night on Venedos was spent trying to find a local delicacy that didn't seem to want to eat them first. Oh, it wasn't that the meals weren't pretty, sitting on the long table that they'd been served at, but...the food itself was downright absurd. Who wanted meatballs that tried to scuttle off your plate before you could stab them?

And of course, they didn't want to offend their host. The vice-minister of Venedos herself had turned out to meet them, pomp and ceremony included and she, with words endowed with far more tact than the hologram-sender had possessed, apologized profusely for their treatment and told them in no uncertain terms that she would do everything to make their stay as comfortable as possible.

At least his diplomatic status hadn't gotten rusty, Cliff mused as he speared a squiggling piece of lasagna and thought rather morosely of the food synthesizer on the Eagle. It may not have been top of the line, but at least the food it produced was already...well, _dead_.

Seated across from him, Mirage set her delicate fork down and smothered a cough. Ahah! His cue! She'd always been the one to observe proper protocol, so if _she _was telling him it was time to go...well --wham, bam, thank-you ma'am-- he'd overstayed _his _welcome.

"Beg your pardon, Vice-Minister, but we've had a rather trying day." He offered the charming trademark Cliff Fittir smile and pushed himself away from the table. Everyone quickly followed suit, except Albel, who had taken some obscure pleasure in 'killing' (re-killing?) his food.

"It is no problem," the gray-haired woman assured him as she stood as well and gestured with one hand at the door. "Again, I am terribly sorry for your baroque treatment. It is...a necessity, all things considered. However, if you need anything, anything at all, please, do not hesitate to contact me. I shall help you to the best of my abilities." She smiled at all of them and Albel, walking past her, smirked.

Bad sign, that smirk. Just as the 'Glyphian was about to open his mouth, Cliff essayed a hasty bow.

"You're too kind," he stepped forwards and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick and very politically correct kiss. "But you've extended courtesy enough to us that we can forget and forgive everything else."

The woman's smile faltered. "I only wish it were the same for our people, Master Fittir."

Somehow, he just knew he was going to endure ribbing about that one all the way back to their assigned rooms. "Good night, Madam."

"And you."

He smiled again, snagged Albel by his left bicep and attempted to drag him out of the room before the poor woman was swamped by the swordsman's peculiar brand of humor. He was, however, surprised to see the other man wince. The hell?

"Touch me again and I'll _kill you, _fool," Albel hissed in a venomous undertone as he pushed past him, half-shoving him with his right hand.

So much for keeping appearances. Politely, the minister pretended not to notice.

Cliff cut his damages and ushered everyone else out the door.

-

Their rooms were perfectly calculated to be obliquely insulting. The classical Klausian colors were there, of course, and probably hastily applied upon their arrival in the Minister's near-palace, but the fact that they were overshadowed by the Venedosian blue didn't exactly go amiss. A nice subtle political segue. It might have bothered his father, but Cliff liked to think he was just a little more easy-going than that.

"Looks like it's us guys in one room and you chicks in the other," he said apologetically, spreading his hands. He was gonna have to bite the bullet in this one. A pity, he would have quite happily enjoyed one of Mirage's killer, stress-relieving massages. "That okay with everyone?"

Nel nodded absently and drifted towards the adjoining room. Her injury had faded, thanks in part to modern technology, and only the redness around the three long scars indicated that it was recent. Thankfully, she wasn't vain enough to complain. He knew lots of women that would have flipped their lid over becoming so marred. Cough--his mother--cough.

Mirage lingered a moment and gave him an amused smile. Sadist. She was enjoying this charade far more than she should be. "Good night...Master Fittir," she intoned finally, voice devoid of the faintest traces of humor. Even so. He liked to think he knew her just a little better than _that. _

He mock-glowered at her and she pretended innocence before giving him the slightest of waves and trailing after Nel.

"Well," he announced cheerfully once the two women had shut their door. "_That _was an ordeal."

Albel said nothing. Instead, he was pacing about the room, inspecting things. Cliff eyed this happenstance. "Uh, yo?"

"You can't tell me they mean us well," the shorter man pointed out in annoyance at Cliff's apparent lack of intelligence. "If they don't have us under survellience..."

"Ah, so what? Not gonna harm anybody."

"Except them. Because when I catch them, I'm going to skin them alive."

"...Well. Only if you're going to insist on causing trouble. Anyways. Take a load off. Get some sleep. And why the hell you wearin' a cloak in here, anyways? It's _only _a hundred _thousand _degrees." Klausians were by nature warm-blooded, whereas the Venedosians were decidedly reptilian in their heating tastes. In annoyance, Cliff brushed a hand against his neck. Why was his pulse so fast...?

"I think..." he paused, blinked and swayed. The room was spinning. What the --

"I've been drugged," he diagnosed immediately, fighting the drug-induced haze that was making it difficult to concentrate. "Get Mir--" but he wasn't given the opportunity to finish his sentence. Albel had glanced up sharply at his words and just before the idiotic oaf toppled over, he'd caught him. Cliff wasn't an ally, but in this place, he wasn't the only enemy.

Still.

He dragged the big (and heavy) man over to one of the beds and dropped him on it. And then he stepped back and checked his own pulse. Nothing out of the ordinary. Something specifically designed to target the buffoon's race, was it?

Just as he was debating whether or not he should go find their host and gut her, the door to theirs and Nel and Mirage's room burst open, Nel was supporting Mirage, who was faring little better than Cliff, save the fact that she wasn't quite unconscious. "Help me!" Nel demanded of him and, prompted more by instinct than desire to comply, he crossed the room and aided the redhead in getting Mirage to the other bed.

He glared at her as he did so and tugged the wool cloak closer about his maimed arm.

"It's not poison," Mirage said dreamily from the bed. "It's..." And then she, too, lost consciousness.

Nel glanced about the room and did a quick sweep. "Here, help me. We have to get these--" she tapped a finger down against one of the dressers. "In front of the doors. There's only one reason they would have been drugged instead of outright killed."

"_Now _you decides to use your head," he remarked in haphazard irritation. She didn't take the bait, and so he deigned to help her. Together, they managed to maneuver the heavy desk in front of the door to the other room. A larger dresser was utilized in blocking off the entrance to the hallway. In the silence that followed, he began poking around for weapons, but it proved fruitless. He supposed he could always break one of the canopy-legs off the four-poster beds, but...that wouldn't be of much use against a high-powered gun. Even their barricade wouldn't last more than a few seconds if someone decided that they really wanted to get into the room.

Nel sat gingerly on the edge of the bed on which they'd deposited Mirage. "Why would they have done this?" she demanded abruptly, as if he had all the answers. "There's no reason aside any political motivations, and even those would be petty. We haven't alienated them in any way and we've complied with _everything _they've asked of us. So what, then?"

Albel leered at her. Foolish woman, did she learn nothing?

"Someone will always have something to gain from our...'misfortune,'" he pointed out.

She frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, but..."

His arm was hurting. He hadn't been parted from the gauntlet for so long that being without it for any period of time was like losing the limb all over again. He wanted to snidely indicate out all the faulty flaws in her theory, but when it boiled right down to it--what was the point? She wouldn't listen to him no matter what he said.

"Is your runology functional here, fool?" His words seemed to divert her train of thought and she looked up at him. A moment later, she'd traced the necessary symbols in the air and conjured a small ball of fire.

"Apparently."

"Then it's presently our only weapon." Something that did not sit at all well with him. He'd never seen runology as being useful, and so had never bothered to learn it. Albel Nox preferred to win things via physicality rather than through any unreliable 'magic'.

Nel, quite contrary to what he knew of her, stood up and came over to him. "Here," she offered. "Let me teach you. It's not that difficult, and you can practice until you get the knack of it."

He eyed her skeptically, snorted and turned away. Even so, he caught her frown within the edges of his periphral vision.

"If it's all we can do..." she trailed off meaningfully and stepped around in front of him. He glared at her and she merely returned it coolly. "Are you right or left-handed?"

"Left," he answered without thinking.

She gave a short nod. "All right, hold out your left hand."

He didn't move. For obvious reasons. Even though he'd been ten years without the usage of his dominant hand, it still came to mind before all else. He'd trained himself to be ambidextrous, but...

"Never mind," he growled. But he wasn't about to be defenseless here, of all places. He held out his right hand, at which she gave him a quizzical look.

"All...right. Try moving your hand like--this." As she spoke, she wove a sort of pattern through the air with utmost delicacy. How she'd manage to master those moves in the midst of battle, he wasn't quite sure. It looked like it required too much concentration. Give him a sword over this pathetic mysticism any day.

Nevertheless, he tried. A spark flared at the tips of his fingers and, unlike the flames of his past, didn't try to burn him. Hm. Interesting.

"Well...it's something? Even we runologists can't master the spells on our first try. Here, do it again."

It was horribly embarrassing to stand and suffer this foolish woman's teachings. He felt his temper rising and he botched the next set of movements, which elicited from him a frustrated growl.

And then, without his noticing, she stepped around behind him, put one hand on his left shoulder and reached with her other hand to his right wrist. "More like this." Her breath was warm against his neck as she carried through with the gesture. Her touch was all at once feather light and weightier than any eternity.

He ducked his shoulder and tried to push her away. The end result wasn't what he'd planned; instead, the cloak slipped from his shoulder and fluttered to the floor. He moved immediately, both to conceal the disfigurement and to retrieve the cloak. He would not--would _not _have her _pity. _

"Oh," she said evenly, taking in the sight. He knew how it must appear to her--of the severed limb, a repulsive stump was all that remained. From that point up to his shoulder the veins and nerves stood out against his skin in an agitated patchwork of crimson. He glared at her, rallying his thoughts against her--if she so much as--

But she didn't. She merely tilted her head and studied him. "So that's why you wear the gauntlet."

He snarled. "What of it, fool?"

She gave him an odd, 'are you really that much of a moron?' look and then shrugged. "Did you feel the runological power, the last time you tried?"

He nodded tersely, strangely and absurdly relieved that she hadn't pursued the subject. He knew it wouldn't take much to put two and two together. Most everyone knew that he'd failed the Ascension of the Flame ceremony, and that his father had died there. But she wasn't going to pry.

Idiot woman.

"I believe you've got the basics." She shrugged and stepped away from him. He'd forgotten how close she'd been standing. "There's a half-dozen other spells I can teach you, but only after you've mastered that." She smiled thinly. Anything she might have said next, however, was overshadowed by the sudden and inexplicable noise of an enemy at their doors.

Albel tensed and moved for a sword that he was no longer carrying. Nel put a finger to her lips and with the light steps of a practiced assassin, crept towards the door. Beyond it was shuffling, a few muted curses, and the scrape of their handiwork being pushed across the floor as the door was inexorably shoved inwards. Nel sprang forwards, disregarding any need to be quiet and pushed it back. When he took a step towards her, she hissed through her teeth and shook her head, mouthing the words 'other door' to him.

He understood and within moments, he'd braced his good shoulder against the desk blocking off the other door. And now it fell to waiting. Whoever it was wasn't about to draw attention to themself immediately by blasting the doors, but they'd obviously planned on an easy entry. He considered that whoever it was must have decided that they were all Klausian. Imbeciles--'know thy enemy' was surely a universal apothegm.

They waited a while, they two, neither wanting to move away from their defensive fortifications while the passage of time was ticked away by an archaic clock upon the room's mantle. Nel was having trouble staying awake, or so it looked to him. Every few minutes her eyes would close and her breathing would slow, and a split-second later, she'd jerk back to wakefulness and glance warily around the room as though expecting to find it in shambles. That would not do.

"Get some sleep, fool." If she was going to insist on being stupidly stubborn, well--

She smiled wanly at this show of concern (even though it was no such thing. Practicality and concern were two very different things, after all) and shook her head. "If they come back--"

"Then I'll _wake you up. _Idiot."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. She looked by far more alert than she had just minutes ago, sat straighter and looked pointedly determined to stay awake as long as possible.

He glared.

She glared back.

And on the bed, Cliff started snoring.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

-

And so it was. By the clock's reckoning, it was five in the morning, and it was upon that time that Nel finally succumbed to the inevitability of sleep. She was dozing lightly, her head tipped back against her barricade, arms folded across her chest. It didn't look comfortable. Albel, who wasn't about to having admitted dropping off around three only to wake up with the chiming of the clock, studied her from afar. The scars had faded further and now were only white. Unlike some, she didn't look younger while she slept. Her deep red hair was disheveled and unwashed--little surprise, they'd hardly had time for the pleasantry of modern toiletries.There were fine lines around her mouth that looked as if she were frowning in her sleep. All in all, she looked...

...Well, whatever. It wasn't important.

So. He stood, and he stretched, and he stalked over to her, tilting his head at her a moment. Would she wake up, if he tried to move her? What did it matter? If she did, he could always drop her. Which would of course lead to another bout of protectiveness from the oaf and another lecture from Mirage...

He smirked, picked her up (a handy trick with only one functional arm) and deposited her on the same bed that they'd left Cliff. And then he arranged the covers haphazardly about the both of them and went to have a shower. He was quite sure they'd let him know when they'd woken up.

-

True to his predictions, they did. Somehow, the silence had gotten rather heavy, and Albel almost found himself humming as he stepped out of the shower. Just as he was tousling his hair dry, there was an indignant yelp and sounds of a scramble.

He pushed open the door, fully dressed once again, and interpreted the scene with disdain. Mirage was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking amused, Cliff was bewildered and nursing a burn on one hand, and Nel looked...murderous.

"You!" She spun upon Albel's entry and glared at him. Mimicking Mirage's performance of last night, he feigned innocence. It was surprisingly difficult for him to accomplish.

Cliff eyed him as well, but Mirage merely smiled. "Good-morning, Albel. It seems these two woke up together. One wonders how it would have happened, hm?"

"Hey, waitasec! I didn't do anything!" Cliff protested, looking back and forth between Nel and Mirage as if unsure which would pounce next. "I swear!"

Nel sighed in exasperation. "I know that, Cliff. It wasn't you."

"But..." he held out his hand and indicated the burn. If anything a six-foot-two behemoth could do would remotely resemble a pout, he managed it. At least until the second half of her statement sunk in. "Wasn't--so it was him?"

Albel neatly adjusted his cloak.

"What did he do?" The Klausian powerhouse seemed thoroughly lost and confused. Mirage merely shook her head.

"Probably better you don't ask, Cliff."

"But Mira--"

"Fools." Albel almost rolled his eyes, checked himself and glared instead. "We had visitors last night. They didn't get in."

"Well I figured _that _much out," Cliff announced, pointing at the barricades. "I'm not a total waste of brainpower, yanno."

"_Anyways,_" Nel said firmly, still eyeing Albel with suspicion. "They likely assumed that we were Klausian as well. Who knows what might have happened if we were."

Cliff looked momentarily thoughtful. "I'll go talk to the Vice-Minister. If she orchestrated this, I might have some trouble getting back, so you all stay here. If not, I imagine she'll be as outraged as we are."

His partner made a soft 'Hmm' noise and shook her head. "Cliff, that might not be wise. Let her come to us. When we don't appear for breakfast this morning, I'm sure she'll work something out. If she comes, we can take it as a gesture of good-will. If she doesn't, we'll know that she had a hand in it, and then we can act accordingly."

"...Okay, point. But still. You expect me to just hang around here twiddling my thumbs and otherwise doing nothing?"

"Yes," Mirage said evenly. Cliff sighed and threw up his hands in defeat.

"Okay, okay. You win. So...what now?"

Smiling sweetly, Mirage pointed at the door behind Albel. "I'll arm-wrestle both of you for shower rights?"

Cliff smacked one fist against his opposing palm. "You're on."

"Mmhmm." Nel agreed. Few would have known that spark of competitiveness that glinted behind her eyes. The only reason Albel even noticed it was because he knew that look--it was remarkably similar to his own.

-

"I looked everywhere for you. I...I thought you were dead. Are you hurt?"

He offered the other boy a half-hearted smile. "No. Just...thinking."

"About...?"

"Death." He glanced back out over the plains. A few scant hours ago, when the fingers of a sinister dawn had stretched from horizon to horizon and trumpeted their fate as loudly as any angel, their opposing forces had met in a grim melee of death and destruction. He'd survived, of course. A coward's survival, but nevertheless, he would live to see another day. The other boy, though taller than him and probably older, had seen less of this war than he had.

"I was worried," the other boy insisted gently, sitting down beside him and pulling one leg up to drape his arm about it. Together they stared off into the distance.

"Sorry," he said offhandedly. He wasn't, not really, but it seemed the only thing he could say.

"Catham--!"

"Can't you be quiet for a while, Darius?" _That's not my name, _he had wanted to say. His words instead spoke nothing of that. But... he needed to reaffirm his identity, he knew, or else he'd lose himself forever. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I almost wish you had died back then," Darius said in mild annoyance, the first show of spirit from the boy since he'd met him. "At least then I could mourn you. Now you walk around like you're still alive but there's nothing behind your eyes."

Everyone called him Catham, but he knew that wasn't right. It was a piece of the puzzle that didn't fit. Something was askew, like a picture on the wall, and no matter how badly he wanted to reach out and set it right, something held him back. The cruel hand of fate at work, he thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry," he said again. It meant nothing more than it had the last time. "I'm just tired, Darius. So tired."

Sighing, the blonde boy shook his head. "It's all right. But this isn't like you. Cath'. I know it's this...war, but still..." he trailed off, and for a moment, time itself froze. The-boy-who-was-not-Catham recoiled from it, as he sensed danger lurking near, just around the proverbial corner, come to claim him.

_Identify program..._

_Identification process halted. Unable to comply. _

_...Scanning..._

_Foreign virus detected. Introducing system antibodies._

In a second, he was on his feet and running. And then there was a shift, as though the tectonic plates beneath his feet were animals released from long years of captivity, and the ground buckled and threw him forwards. He knew he was about to die, but--

"Cath'?"

He gasped for air and clutched at his chest. His head spun and his adrenaline had set his heart to beating far faster than it should have. He hadn't moved from where he'd been, and yet everything had changed.

"I thought you said you weren't hurt!"

_I will be, _he thought desperately. _Soon._

-

Unsurprisingly, Cliff had been the last to shower. Nel and Mirage had tied, one win to each, but Mirage had won the tie-breaker and with remarkably little notable bragging, had gone to shower. Cliff maintained staunchly that he'd done the only thing a gentlemen could do in his situation--lose gracefully to two beautiful women. He'd received frighteningly similar expressions of exasperation from both of them.

So. It was shortly after he'd enjoyed the local amenities and rejoined the crowd considerably better groomed that the Vice-Minister had shown up. There was an aura of non-repentance about her, and a dignity that refused to be rattled. Perhaps there was something of anger, but Cliff didn't think it was directed at them.

"I--" she began, but Cliff held up a hand.

"Start at the beginning. We aren't angry, just...somewhat annoyed."

She tilted her head up and considered him as though for the first time. "Very well," she said,pursing her lips."I was not informed of it until this morning. Those that made this...attack upon you are loyalists, nothing more. They have been detained and interrogated and sent to our capital city for reevaluation. They truly believe you are here to rekindle the war, and they acted how they thought best."

"You're trying to defend them, huh?" Cliff folded his arms. It must have looked imposing, because the woman took a step back.

"Perhaps, Master Fittir. They are my countrymen, and even though I cannot condone their actions, I can still understand them. We lost much during our war with your people."

Nel frowned and decided to try another vein of conversation. "So give us back our weapons. We should at least be allowed to defend ourselves, if this sort of thing happens again. You've told us nothing to assure us it _won't _happen again."

Vice-Minister Naidina looked at her. "You...you are not Klausian, are you?"

"No."

"If you would have informed us of this--"

"We told you what was necessary," Cliff said rather sternly. As though chastised, the woman nodded to them both.

"Very well. I see no reason that you should not be permitted to carry a few objects, if I have your word that you will use them only to defend yourselves."

"You would trust our word?" Mirage asked quizzically, tilting her head to one side. Naidina turned to look at her.

"Trust is the foundation of all great things," she intoned seriously. "I believe we have made a mistake in failing to trust you. I am trying now to rectify things. If you are allowed your weapons and then you choose to attack us, then I will have proven myself wrong, but at least it will be an honest wrongness."

In that moment, this short, grey-haired woman reminded Nel very strongly of her majesty the Queen. It was a peculiar deja-vu, and she found herself smiling. Albel, from his corner of the room, snorted. Obviously he didn't agree with these morales, but at least he was keeping his silent countenance. The last thing any of them needed was some of his condescending cruelty.

"I will have you outfitted with whatever you desire," Naidina said at last. "But your access to certain areas will be restricted. It is my only condition in this matter."

"Fair enough." Once again, Cliff made a triumphant gesture with his hands. "And after that--can we have something to eat? That isn't going to lay us out for twelve hours?"

The small woman nodded gravely. "I will see to it myself. Now, come with me."

-

Not only had she given them weapons back, but she'd upgraded them. They weren't half bad, Mirage thought as she shadow-boxed absently with a wall. She'd then given them a map-cube and pointed out areas that they weren't allowed to go. All in all, it had been a decent transaction. And at least they'd been fed some food that hadn't squiggled uncomfortably all the way down. Mirage had always found cultural differences fascinating, but she now firmly maintained the creed that she would never again attempt native Vendosian cuisine. Once was more than enough.

And on top of that, Sophia had contacted them again. It had been socially awkward to excuse herself as her communicator buzzed, but nevertheless she'd managed to slip off quietly without much mishap. Cliff provided marvelous distractions when necessary. His latest escapade had involved the 'accidental' dismantling of a scaffold where several workers had been erecting a statue.

'Oops' apparently hadn't been a viable apology. She left him not at all envying the lecture he was about to receive from several outraged artisans.

Sophia hadn't had much to say, or rather, couldn't say much. She told Mirage that she knew where they were, at least, and would join them whenever it became safe for her to do so. She didn't mention what kind of dangers she was in, but Mirage suspected the situation was somewhat graver than the young girl let on. She was quite obviously frightened, but that couldn't be helped.

"Mirage?" Nel had snuck in to lean against the wall nearby, making Mirage pause mid-swing and look up.

"Yes?"

"I think I should go find Sophia."

Mirage, stretching, offered the redheaded woman a smile. "I was actually just thinking about what to do. Do you think you'll be able to find her?" She waited until Nel's affirming nod and then returned the gesture. "Very well. We'll have to talk it over with Cliff and Albel, but..."

"Well, there's nothing else we can do. If she's in danger and can't come to us, our only option is to go to her. We aren't Klausian--we won't have the restrictions you will."

_We? _"You and Albel?"

She had the good graces to look mildly uncomfortable. "We talked it over earlier. He wanted to go alone, as did I. After some arguing, we decided to just go together."

Oh, what she would have given to be a fly on _that _wall. "Ah. All right, so we'll wait until Cliff comes back and tell him. I don't think he'll say no, but..."

"Thanks," Nel had apparently already taken her word as permission, not that she needed it. "But we should head out as soon as possible. Sophia..." Mirage thought she sensed the editing of the words '_can't defend herself'. _"Shouldn't be alone."

"Are you two ready to go?"

"Yes."

"All right." Absently, Mirage brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. "Go, then. Contact us when you've found her."

"Mm," Nel responded, giving Mirage somewhat of a salute as she turned to walk away.

Fly on the wall indeed.

-

"I am not going to let you tag along just because you don't think I can do it on my own!"

"I didn't say that, maggot." Albel was annoyed. There was no other word that could possibly convey the depths of that annoyance, and so he left it at that. Ergo, simply put, he was...annoyed. Nel's irritation looked to rival his own.

"But you just said--"

"I _said," _he began coldly. "That I should accompany you..." But, truth be told, he _had _hinted that he didn't think her competent enough to accomplish the task on her own. _He _was, of course, but Nel Zelpher...

"Even you can't justify your own words." Nel groaned and pressed the palm of one hand against her forehead. "Look, Albel. I don't want a quarrel with you. I'm sick of all this fighting. I'm going to go find Sophia. You can come if you want, but if you plan on doing it just so you can antagonize me, then I'm sorry, but there is no power in this universe that will keep me from killing you."

That line was remarkably Albelsian. Well, it might have been, if one were to negate the apology. "Just so long as you stay out of my way," he informed her.

She --was that a _scoff?_ "Likewise. You're not the only one with an acid wit, you realize."

"No, but I _am _the only one that knows how to use it."

There was a moment of silence. She glared at him. "Ah, I see. I'm in a similar predicament, but it seems to relate more to intelligence."

Another moment. He glared at her. And nearby, crouched (but not hiding, no sir) behind a couch, Cliff smothered a grin. Mirage would _love _to hear this. How could he have known that in escaping the impending lecture that he'd stumble into this particular room, with these particular people? Even so.

Nel sighed. "I'm going to leave in an hour. Be ready or don't be, I don't care."

And it was thus that both parties, thoroughly disgusted with each other, turned and stalked out of the room.

-


	5. Chapter 5

_Halo_

AN: What's this? The plot picks up? (More or less, in reality, things just become more convoluted) Politics and intrigue and secrets, oh my! Amazing.More characters join the fray, but keep in mind: not everything is as it seems.

Once again, thanks for the feedback. Muchly appreciated, it be. As always, criticism is the highest praise.

-

Naidina proved a gracious host in that she escorted them personally to the door of her less-than-humble abode. It seemed much larger when one was standing outside, admiring it for all its structural glory.

"This will be your guide," Naidina announced, interrupting Nel's reverie. "His name is Lucien--he knows this city very well." It had been not-so-subtly hinted that they would receive a tag-along no matter their opinion on the matter. At least they, unlike Cliff and Mirage, were being allowed to leave. If the price of that leaving was a chaperone--so be it.

The boy, for surely he was no older than eighteen, could be perhaps called beautiful--if aesthetics were taken into consideration. He had black hair and his eyes were a pale violet--a vivid sort of shade that didn't seem wholly natural. He smiled slightly at both Nel and Albel and shook their hands with equanimity. "Nice to meetcha."

Nel hesitated as his grip on her hand tightened somewhat. "Have I met you before?" she asked without thinking. The boy blinked.

"Maybe? I don't know...don't think so, at any rate." He regarded her quizzically and released her hand. It ached where he'd held it, and Nel had never been what anyone would class as delicate. "You're Nel Zelpher, right?"

She shifted from foot to foot and cast Albel a warning glance. He merely twitched an irritated frown at her and settled his hand on the hilt of his sword. "What good will he be?" he asked Naidina blandly. "If you're worried about us getting _lost, _rest assured, it won't happen." Although it might. Albel had proved on many occasion that his horrible sense of direction was rivaled only by his bad manners. Maybe he was just showing faith in her abilities? Heh, _there _was a thought.

Naidina forced a smile and set a hand on Albel's right arm. "He is a good boy," she began, withdrawing her hand at Albel's exasperated sigh. Nel could decipher the meaning easily--'_Why do these idiots insist on touching me?' _"And he will be useful, and can get you across any checkpoints that you might encounter. We are a suspicious society, Master Nox, and you are strangers amongst us. Please, do not be offended."

Albel 'Hnned' and stepped away from the woman, body language indicating that this conversation was Over and Done With and that he didn't want to be bothered. As though getting accustomed to the fit of his new clawed gauntlet, he flexed and un-flexed the joints. Naidina frowned ever-so-slightly, but at a strangely calibrated look from Lucien, she smoothed her features and turned to Nel with a smile.

"Good luck in finding...whatever it is that you are looking for, Mistress Zelpher. I wish you all the best." With those words, she bowed, gave one final covert glance to Lucien and left them standing near the ornamental portcullis of her mansion. Nel, looking back and forth between Albel and their new companion, gave a mental sigh and cleared her throat.

"Shall we?"

Lucien smiled and nodded, striking out towards the city veins that deigned label themselves roads. They were far too narrow for anything approaching practicality, but he didn't seem bothered.

Albel merely grunted and caught Nel's arm as she made as if to follow the black-haired boy. He lowered his voice to a rough whisper and she had to stand on her tip-toes to hear him. "I don't trust him," he growled.

Nel shrugged acquiescence. "Nor do I."

Albel's sharp gaze followed Lucien as he strode away as though he hadn't noticed their failure to follow him. "Stay alert," he told her darkly before releasing her arm and starting off after their guide. After a beat, she did as well.

This entire trip was shaping up to be far more than they had bargained for.

-

Sophia smiled gratefully at the man that had handed her a cup of warm broth, and as he stepped back, she cleared her throat to speak. "Thank you, Heitan," she murmured quietly. The man gave her an answering smile and resumed his seat. She'd met him a little over two months ago--shortly after Fayt had disappeared and she'd found herself alone, stranded on a planet with no credit to her name and knowing no one that could possibly come to her aid. Heitan had befriended her with his quiet ways and calm nature. He was a mute--and more than once she'd caught sight of the stump of his tongue, but he communicated with small chirruping noises that she was learning to decipher. And he was literate--anything important was passed to her on paper.

From what she could gather--Heitan was a member of an underground association that opposed the ruling government. He'd found her as she was being chased by the authorities and had sheltered her, but she had little information about him or his group. She'd almost thought, for a while, that she was their prisoner. It was not until they provided her with a communicator and had allowed her to contact Cliff while they hung in orbit that she realized the truth--they were trying to protect her. And now her friends were coming to rescue her.

Well...she smiled wryly. Maybe 'rescue' wasn't the right word. She was safe, for the time being--Heitan had already proved himself proficient at defending her. And she...she was learning how to look after herself. It scared her sometimes--but she wasn't a child any more. If there had ever been a moment in her life where she simply _had _to take charge--that time was now.

She sipped at the broth he'd given her. "Heitan?"

He tilted his head at her.

"How will I find my friends?"

He seemed to contemplate her question a moment before reaching for an ever-present pen and paper. He scribbled an answer and held it out for her observation. _They'll find you. _

She frowned. "But...how?"

He smiled and shook his head. Obviously, that implied that she should just watch and wait. She'd gotten into contact with Mirage, but that had been inconclusive. Mirage hadn't been able to say much beyond the fact that they were being politely detained.

Sophia felt helpless. "All right," she said firmly, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt. "Thank you, Heitan."

She swilled the contents of her cup around and stared into the murky amber liquid as though it could contain all the answers of their known universe. And then she smiled at herself. If anyone had _those _kind of answers, it would be Luther, and Luther was...

She didn't want to say dead, not really. She hadn't really liked him--after all, he was trying to destroy their universe, but neither did that mean that she had wanted him to die.The powers of her Connection gene had been expanding, before they'd defeated him, and when she touched him, she'd known more than she could have wanted to about the Owner of the Sphere Company.

She'd learned to control it better since then, and bare skin-on-skin contact rarely established such a connection now. But the memory of that touch had burned itself in her mind, refusing to release her focus.

Despite the warm humidity of her surroundings, she shivered. And inevitably, her thoughts turned to Fayt.

She missed him more than words could possibly say. Guiltily, she'd spent the days since his disappearance trying to make herself forget, but it was hard. She didn't want to admit to herself how worried she was about him--even the knowledge that he could take care of himself didn't help her sleep at night. Not to mention she had the sneaking suspicion that it was her fault he was gone in the first place.

Her grip on the mug tightened. She didn't want to think like that! Together, they'd identified the anomaly that Blair had discovered, but beyond that...

_Oh, someone. Please, help me. _

She paused and her lips turned downwards in a small frown. That wasn't how she should be thinking--not now, when there was so much at stake. _I can take care of myself,_ she tried telling herself firmly. She almost believed it.

-

Nel almost didn't want to believe it. Lucien had led them to...a strip club.

It was not the sort of place she wanted to be--but he'd been rather insistent. "It's a bit of an information network," he'd explained after dropping the bomb on them. "We won't stay too long." He'd winked, smiled in a manner so familiar it was almost sinister and had dragged (metaphorically, of course. Nel doubted that he was strong enough to drag anyone anywhere against their will) them inside.

Albel looked murderous. Even so, that hadn't stopped him from attracting the attention of several of the establishment's girls. Every so often, one would send a covertly flirting glance in his direction, which would alternately cause him to redden and to take another exaggerated drink of whatever it was he was imbuing. They'd been relieved of their weapons at the door--unsurprising, but this time Albel had managed to get away with keeping his gauntlet. Nel didn't doubt that if it came to it, he'd use it.

Nel herself was blissfully free of any wandering glances. She may have been somewhat scantily clad, but Lucien had, prior to their entry of the club, given her his trench-coat, which was large enough to carry her well within the realm of decency. Hunkered down as she was in a booth seat, with Albel Nox sitting across from her, she considered herself safe. But if Albel drank much more, he might just up and pass out--which was not what she needed.

As though he sensed her distaste, he glared at her. It was one of those holier than thou, 'you're-only-alive-because-you-provide-me-with-some-amusement sort of looks. And then he surprised her by speaking.

"Calm down, maggot. It's apple juice."

She paused. And blinked. "Did I say anything?"

"No. But...just in case."

Nel sighed. "You know, Albel, just because you hate us doesn't mean--"

"I don't." He took a benign sip of his 'apple juice.'

"What?"

"Don't you listen to a word I say, fool? I don't hate you."

"...Really?"

"Yes. I merely find your company exasperating and distasteful. At the best of times."

"Albel--!"

"That," he said with an almost-not-quite smirk, "Was a joke."

She stared.

"Don't look so surprised," he muttered darkly. "I _do _know how to joke, fool."

"Could have fooled me," she retorted dryly. He resumed the glaring, and so she decided to change the subject. With a cough, she cleared her throat.

"What do you think is taking our guide?" she asked as she leaned back against the seat and tilted her head back. The atmosphere was blissfully smoke free--thankfully, as Nel had never had outstanding tolerance for carcinogenics.

"That _maggot _is likely taking his sweet time with whatever it is that was important enough to deviate from our mission."

Nel rolled her eyes. "You hold him, I hit him?"

Albel smiled at her--mockingly, but it was a step above the usual glare. "You hold him," he corrected her. "And I disembowel him."

"Ah," she said in a tone of enlightenment. As it were, Lucien chose that moment to return to them. His cheeks were flushed somewhat, but other than that there seemed to be little wrong with him. Albel stood immediately and grabbed him by the shirt-front with his good hand.

"You owe us an explanation."

"Um...now?" Lucien asked with innocence. "'Cause...it's probably not a good idea..."

"Albel--" Nel tried. Yes, she wasn't happy with the boy, but that was hardly reason enough to execute him _publicly._

That, however, did little to appease the Glyphian. He pulled the shorter man closer. "Well?"

"Look, this isn't a safe place," Lucien said stalwartly. "I'll tell you everything later, just let me go, all right? You're gonna ruin my uniform." He squirmed as though to exemplify his point.

An impasse.

Albel dropped him, despite the fact that Nel hadn't quite realized that he'd held the black-haired man in the air. Together, they left the club. One of the girls made a pass at Albel and succeeded in capturing him for a few seconds. Nel did not envy her the look he gave her, although it was absolutely priceless when the girl removed something from the confines of her less-than-functional top (that seemed to be comprised of a series of strings more than anything) and pressed it into the palm of the hand that the swordsman had lifted to fend her off.

Albel's expression was unreadable, though his face was red. The girl smiled and darted away. Although he was trying to remain aloof, a mild tick at the corner of one eye gave him away. With an annoyed sigh, he turned to Nel. "Having fun, maggot?"

She ventured a grin. "Was it that obvious? You're quite the lady's man, Albel Nox."

"Bah." And with that, he shoved past her and Lucien both, collected his weaponry and left the club without so much as a backwards glance. With some disdain, she skinned out of the borrowed trench-coat and offered it to its rightful owner, who smiled slightly in response.

"We'll stop somewhere else after this--just a hotel," he added hastily at her darkening expression. "From there, we'll figure something out, eh?"

-

Albel knew that Nel had yet to tell their indolent companion their true purpose. What he didn't know, he couldn't turn against them, after all. Their plans, when they'd given them brief discussion, consisted of waiting until he was either out of earshot or unconscious (which Albel would be most happy to accomplish) to try and contact Sophia. As much as the vapid child irritated him, he grudgingly admitted that going to find her was the best route they could take in their present circumstances. And at least it got him away from the oaf.

Still. Albel did not--make that Did Not, capital letters, trust Lucien one iota. The man was both more and less than he seemed, and he knew too much while revealing too little. But he'd been the one to get them past the first checkpoint, and he'd been very meticulous about not allowing them to see the procedure.

Their 'discussion' had consisted of exactly three things. No concrete information, a lowering of any esteem that Albel might have bothered having for the man, and an urge to kick him repeatedly in the head until he was rendered unconscious.

Nel had escaped into their room's bathroom in what Albel assumed to be an attempt to contact Sophia. The running water was a sure sign--she was trying to smother any noise the communicator might make. When she emerged a time later, she looked more annoyed than not--her lips were pursed and her brows were drawn down in disconcertion. He take that to mean she'd had no luck.

He hadn't thought she would. But he supposed there was no true harm in trying.

"Nel," he said abruptly, startling the Aquarian woman into glancing upwards.

"Yes?"

"I've been considering preforming the Ascension of the Flame ceremony with Crosell."

She blinked in confusion. "But that'd be dangerous! We had a hard enough time defeating him, and there were more of us then, if you did it alone--"

He gave a slight jerk of his head, in Lucien's direction. The young man was looking back and forth between them as though he was trying to discern the true topic of what they were discussing. "That's why I'm going to do it, fool. If I know the danger I'm about to face, I'll be more alert. Don't you think?"

Something in her expression told him she'd gotten his message. Hmph. At least she was proving more astute than he could have hoped for. He was quite sure that had he been talking to Cliff, he would have had to get up and forcibly shove his point down the man's throat. She gave a slight nod, barely perceptible, and turned to Lucien.

"What time will we leave tomorrow?"

The boy shrugged absently. "Whenever. I'm not too strict, so it's pretty much up to you guys." He picked his bag up, dragged it onto his bed an rifled through it. "But the next checkpoint only allows a quota of about..." he came up with a small vial, which he popped open and drained in one well-practiced gesture. "--Three hundred people a day through them." His hands were shaking as he tossed the now-empty vial back in his bag, and when he smiled, it accentuated the ghastly pallor of his skin. "Exceptions can be made for military personnel, depending on their purposes."

Nel, watching him, frowned. "What was that?"

Lucien blinked and brushed his hair back from his eyes. "That what? Oh... The potion? I'm diabetic. Anyways. I want to avoid any hassle, so..." he paused. "Guys. You don't have to trust me, but why the hell are you here, anyways? Are you in league with Klaus?"

"No," Albel answered before Nel could speak. "And if you continue insinuating such things, I'll--"

"Have to set you straight." Nel interrupted with a disproving look to him. She was quite sure of what he'd been about to say, and if it didn't involve death, pain, or blood, she was willing to live out the rest of her life pretending she was a Lousyd.

"It's not that," the boy amended hastily. "It's just...there's a lot going on here now. Why would any outsiders not part of the Federation show up? I don't get it. Nobody does." He sighed. "I just don't want another war, is all. We've got enough problems on our home turf, y'know? Without any outside interference. There's terrorist groups running around everywhere, opposing the government--just last week they made an example of three guys about my age. Executed them and then aired it on an open broadcast frequency." He shuddered. "But. I'm babbling, huh? I do that when I'm tired."

Albel had just stopped listening. There was no point--he'd never understood ceaseless prattle. Woltar had always said that the value of speech was increased the less one spoke. He was wont to agree, which was most certainly a first for him. "Shut up, maggot." He said abruptly. Lucien fell silent, eyeing him warily.

"Sorry," he said after a moment.

Albel merely sneered at him in lieu of a response, reached over and flicked off the lights to their room. There were only two beds, and he'd already resigned himself to the couch closest to the doors. Nel had offered to take it, citing that she was shorter and less likely to be uncomfortable, but he'd brushed her off. Foolish woman.

"Good night?" Lucien asked questioningly into the darkness. Apparently the lights-out hadn't been an entirely efficient segue.

"Yes," Nel agreed readily. Her maternal side was showing, apparently.

"Bah."

"Good night to you too, Albel," Nel said dryly.

-

The next morning was uneventful up to one point. And then, the shit hit the proverbial fan. They were standing just outside the checkpoint into the Manedian Sector in the humid heat of midday, and the situation was not improving anyone's temperment in the slightest.

"But, sir, I'm Lucien Dakaren--I was sent by Lady Naidina to accompany these peo--" Lucien waved his passport around half-heartedly, as though it were the key to solving all the world's problems.

It did nothing to sway the tall, grizzled guard that blocked their path. "Your access has been revoked. How many times do you insist on making me repeat myself?"

"But..." Lucien couldn't seem to think up a reasonable comeback that didn't consist of that word. "_Sir!" _

"If you don't leave the checkpoint premises, you will be forcibly removed."

"What is this all about, worm?" Albel pushed past Lucien to glare at the guard, who seemed annoyingly unperturbed.

"You're his companion, yes?" The unflappable man gestured at Lucien, who still had that lost-and-kicked-puppy sort of look.

"Not by choice," Albel growled offhandedly. "We have business in this--" What had Lucien called them? "Sector. Let us through. Now."

"I'm sorry, sir. But once your access is revoked, it's impossible to--"

He was cut off. It was as though someone had just pressed pause on their world--everything, everywhere stopped. Nel and Albel aside, nothing was moving.

"What in the world?" Nel reached instinctively to her weapons and dropped into a fighter's crouch. "Albel?"

"Get down!" The words prompted an immediate response, despite the fact that neither of them had spoken it. It was a universal term--when one says 'get down', people react in kind.

"Who was that?" Nel hissed to him as they lay flat on the ground. Around them, no one stirred.

In the next instant, Albel knew why exactly the warning had been issued. A blast of heat swept over them, so intense that he actually felt it blister his exposed skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain and ignored Nel's sharp intake of breath.

"Hey, are you all right? Here-- Cure." The cooling effect that the spell always had washed over him, and Albel pushed himself into a crouching position, sword drawn and ready to alternately attack or defend.

"Fayt?" Nel asked incredulously.

"Huh? Not really. Luck, maybe. I was just passing by--I'm Catham." The somber boy tipped a hand in a bit of a salute. "You were almost killed in that explosion. You're just civilians, why are you in this sector?"

Now was hardly the time to look around, but he couldn't help himself. Just prior to this strange happenstance, they'd been in a relatively bland building of white-washed stone. It had come complete with weapons detectors and DNA gene-scanners, and it looked nothing like _this. _But Albel could identify better with what he saw now than what he had previously. This looked like a battlefield. There were scars in the very soil beneath their feet, and for a moment, he caught the smell of burnt flesh upon the wind. The sky itself was scorched, dark and ominous.

Their 'savior', however, was another story entirely. Because not only did he _sound _like their former companion, but he looked like him in every possible respect. Same height, same build, same damned hair--though the eyes were different. Fayt's had never expressed the depths of agony and sorrow that he saw when he looked at this boy.

"Who the hell are you?"

"...Catham. I told you. Did the concussion addle your brains? I asked what you were doing here."

"We aren't civilians," Nel said cautiously. "We're --Fayt, what's _wrong _with you?"

"Ma'am, I apologize, but you've both been fairly badly injured. Come with me, all right? I'll get you to safety."

There were many things in this world that Albel didn't like. Annoying people. Stupid people. Hell, people in general. But neither did he appreciate being patronized. "Shut up, you insipid maggot," he snarled. "Tell us what's going on!"

The boy hesitated. He could almost see the internal battle. "We're in the middle of a war," he said evenly. "I don't know how you got into this sector, but you'll both be killed if you don't come with me. It's my responsibility to look after civilians--you're making my life exceedingly difficult."

Nel, who had been looking around warily, shifted her grip on her short-swords. "Someone's coming."

Both Albel and the boy looked in the direction she indicated, and it elicited a beleaguered sigh from the latter. "They've found us. We're dead. Do either of you have any combat experience?"

If ever Albel had had a reason to scoff, this was it.

"Wait. Albel. Albel!" At Nel's urgent entreaty, he cast her an irritated glower. It didn't phase her in the slightest. "The runological force in this area is absolutely astounding. I couldn't see it before, but it's everywhere. This isn't right."

"Get ready!" the boy called unnecessarily. Albel was always ready to get in a fight--and this looked promising. Their opponents were of the intimidating sort, big and bulky. But Albel wasn't worried--speed had always been his advantage. The fight began in a clash of blades and a string of curses. 'Catham' was a clumsy fighter, the guns that he was using were obviously not his preferred weapon. Nel, sensing this, threw him one of her swords--the longer of the two, leaving her with only the small dagger.

"Use this!"

Catham stared at the small sword as if he'd never seen anything like it before in his life. And then something _shifted. _His stance changed and he grinned--the first sign of any positive emotion that he'd shown. "Hey, thanks," he chimed, almost cheerfully.

The fight was intense, but brief. They were, of course, paramount. Albel had taken a hit to his thigh, and it made walking a whole new hell, but the moment Nel noticed, she set about trying to fix him.

Afterwards, awkwardly, Catham held her sword out for her to take. She didn't. "How'd you know I use swords?" he asked in something approaching awe.

She glared at him. "Fayt, stop fooling around! This is serious! What's going on?"

The boy winced. "I'm sorry if I've upset you, ma'am, but I'm not who you think I am. Now, we have to get back before more enemies come. You two are pretty handy in a fight, but your style isn't like anything I've seen. You're not academy trained, are you?" His inflection made it less a question.

"_Fayt--!" _

_"As I was saying, once your access is revoked, it's hell getting through the checkpoints. But everything's all clear now. Have a nice day, sir." _The guard stopped and blinked at her. "Beg pardon?"

Nel was still crouched down beside Albel, who, upon examination, found his injury to be completely healed, as though it had never been. Nel's cure spell couldn't have closed the wound so seamlessly, and in such short time. However, at the guard's words, Nel looked up. "What?"

Lucien put a hand on her shoulder. "Nel? Hey, if we don't hurry through the checkpoint, they'll close it."

"But--" She looked to Albel, who shared her immediate confusion. He pushed her away and got to his feet.

"What the hell is going on?"

Lucien smiled cheerfully. "There was a problem with their computers, just a glitch. I've got my access back. ...Weren't you paying attention?"

"No," Nel said in quiet disbelief. "Apparently not."

-

Catham stared at the two strangers as they dissipated into thin air. And then he shook his head. Had he imagined it...? But no. One quick look at the double-bladed weapon in his hand confirmed that. It wasn't just his imagination, nor a hallucination, nor...anything that he could possibly put a name to.

"What in the hell?" he muttered, mostly to himself. As he was busy contemplating the level of potential insanity that this indicated, his radio crackled.

"Falcon here," he said automatically, hand moving to depress the button that would activate the radio properly.

"Hey," the voice was the quiet intonation of Darius, and he frowned slightly.

"Where are you?"

"About two clicks away from you. Hurry--we're surrounded and running out of ammunition. If you're not careful..."

"Roger. I'm on my way."

-


End file.
